


Must Of Got Lost

by ProfDrLachfinger



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Slurs, but nothing serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22226041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfDrLachfinger/pseuds/ProfDrLachfinger
Summary: After his narrow escape from IT‘s claws, Eddie wakes up in hospital and all his friends are there. Except for Richie. He might have escaped the cavern under Neibolt House and the horrible creature inside, but still, he is chased by a monster of a different kind. As soon as Eddie has recovered, he sets out to find Richie, propelled by a newfound realization.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Reddie - Relationship
Comments: 17
Kudos: 86





	1. Getting Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptBexx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptBexx/gifts).



> I wrote this fanfiction as a Christmas gift for my dearest friend [CaptBexx](https://www.instagram.com/captbexx/)! That's why you will find a lot of (hopefully) funny headcanons and conversations as well as sad parts CaptBexx and I came up with for those two. Still, somehow I don't feel like this is the best fic I have written and I could have done better ... So I just ask you to be kind should you find some canonical errors or inconsistencies with the movie. I only managed to see IT two times and I don't have the best memory ... xD
> 
> The fanfiction is already completed and in the progress of being beta-read that's why I am aiming for weekly updates. If I won't be able to do that: Don't fret! I will finish uploading this fic at some point :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the Losers' final stand off against the eldritch horror IT – a moment that is going to change all their lives. Fighting his resurfacing feelings for Eddie, Richie has to make a choice when everything is on the verge of death.

[ ](https://profdrlachfinger.tumblr.com/post/190085324745/)

_„Never thought about tomorrow  
_ _Seemed like a long time to come_  
_How could I be so blind, baby  
_ _Not to see you were the one“_

_J. GEILS BAND – Must Of Got Lost_

**PART I – Now I hold a losin' hand**

The pain was excruciating.

One moment Eddie had been holding Richie close, babbling with the elation of having killed that fucking monster for good. Of having saved Richie from certain death. Now there was time. Clinging to the sleeves of his closest friend, Eddie wanted to say something. Something that had always been on the tip of his tongue.

„Richie! I killed IT, Riche! Oh God I’m so glad you’re alive! I l–“

His heart stopped. Everything turned black.

***

„Don’t die, don’t die, don’t DIE!“

Flashes of light ripped Eddie from the ice cold clutches that clawed at the wound in his belly, stripping away his life away. Everything around him was dark. Then light. Then dark again. The deadlights! With fear jolting through his entire system, Eddie opened his eyes and tried to sit up. To get away. But someone held him fast.

Moaning he flopped back down, fearing to hit his head against the wet, hard stones of that terrible cave. But instead his head was carefully cradled and guideddown onto … an old leather jacket?

Forcing his eyes open once more, battling the rising mist of death, he saw yellow street lights passing by. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. He was in the back of a small, cramped car. Over the deafening sound of traffic he heard distant voices arguing and yelling at each other.

„Can’t you go any faster?!“

„I am already driving as fast as I can!“

„He’s not gonna make it in time!“

„Shut it and drive!“

Then suddenly illuminated by the harsh beams of the street lights was Richie. His face a mask of terror and fear.

„Eddie! Eddie can you hear me?!“ He gasped.

Trying to say something in return, Eddie opened his mouth but couldn’t. It was unbelievably dry and his lips coated in blood and mud. He tried to smile. Richie was still there. And safe.

„Eddie? Eds!“

A white fog came up and Eddie felt his senses slipping from him.

„Oh Eds, please don’t die,“ Richie whispered. „Please! I love you! I didn’t get the chance to tell you sooner, but please please please give me that chance!“

The voice was so soft, the whisper barely reached Eddie. But when it did, it was accompanied by warm lips brushing against his ear. Then the lips were pressed against his temple.Whispering. Pleading.

_Richie! Don’t let me die!_

***

Richie had been angry. He just wanted to kill that fucking Clown already. In a flash he had grabbed one of the cool, slick rocks that had been lying around that gloomy cave under the well house. With one throw he had hit that monster so hard, that it reared its ugly head and then everything went blank.

His whole mind had been flayed open and emptied out. He was just filled by this awful, all encompassing glow. And like the silverscreen in the movies, pictures flashed in the back of his skull. Of Beverly and Ben being crushed by IT. Of Bill and Mike thrown against the cave walls with a vicious snap. And of Eddie.

Eddie’s face appeared in front of him, smiling talking without any sound. When suddenly his whole ribcage burst open and a savage claw spattered his best friends entrails all over him.

The vision stopped abruptly when Richie was flung on his back with Eddie landing heavily in top of him.

Eds was save!

But this traitorous moment only lasted for a few seconds before his vision became real. Eddie arched his back in pain as he was pierced through and flung away by that clown’s claw.

Then everything else was a blur. How he held Eddie’s limp body, trying to figure out was he was stuttering through all of the blood in his mouth. And how they had killed Pennywise once and for all with the advice from his dying friend.

After they had crushed the monster’s heart between their hands, the only thing he could think of was Eddie. He ran back, dragging that lifeless form into his arms. His friends around him yelled, trying to be heard over the noice of the crumbling cave.

„Richie, you have to let go!“ Bill yelled.

„Rich, honey,“ Beverly pleaded and grabbed his shoulder. „We have to go. There’s nothing we can do for him anymore.“

Richie yanked himself free. „No! I can’t leave him here! He’s not dead! I can feel a pulse!“

And suddenly Mike crowded his vision, gently prying Richie’s fingers off of Eddie’s back and helped him carry their friend through the narrow entrance of the cave and up Neibolt House out into the street.

Back up they rushed to the car, Ben behind the wheel, Beverly next to him and in the back Richie carefully cradled Eddie’s head on his lap, while Mike and Bill held fast to the limp body and they had shot off.

***

„How did that happen?“ A brisk paramedic at the ER wanted to know, as she cut open Eddie’s shirt, displaying his mangled torso.

Fear had taken hold of Richie’s entire body and made him tremble but her tone of voice cut through his stupor. The Losers stood in a semi circle around the gurney that Eddie had been dumped on. The ER workers were anything but cautious.

„What do you care?!“ Richie snapped, the broken glasses on his face nearly slipping off. „Just fix him already!“

Bill grabbed his arm. „Rich.“

„Sir, if you can’t tell us what happened it’ll be harder to get him properly treated,“ the paramedic shot back.

Agitated Richie made to jump at the paramedic, when Ben stepped up. „We … we went for a hike in the woods and … we were climbing along a gorge and– and he fell off and somehow there must’ve been an old gate post. He …,“ Ben swallowed. „He got impaled.“

„Why in God’s name did you get him off that post? Now he could bleed to death!“ The paramedic snapped.

„We couldn’t just leave him there!“ Richie cried as he felt hot tears streaming down his face. His whole body felt like disintegrating. „We couldn’t leave him there! He doesn’t deserve that! We couldn’t … we couldn’t …“

Behind him, Beverly slung er arms around him. Richie’s whole body suddenly let go of the tension. He turned and slumped against Beverly who brushed her hand through his hair, murmuring comforting words into his ear.

„It’s fine Rich, it’s fine. We didn’t leave him. _You_ didn’t leave him.“

Trembling and sobbing, Richie watched through a veil of tears as Eddie was being wheeled away and out of sight.

***

They were told to take a seat in the waiting room. As soon as there would be news from their friend, they would be told.

With Beverly’s arm around his waist Richie hobbled up to one of the cheap plastic chairs that made up the desolate waiting area. Around them were concerned parents, tow or three old people and what seemed to be the entire Brady Bunch. Richie pulled a face in disgust.

Sitting down, the fast forward tape that had been the last three hours was coming to an immediate stop. IT was dead. Eddie clinging to the verge of life. And the Losers huddled together in the waiting area.

They must have been a terrible sight: All torn clothes, mud crusted faces and bloodied hands.

Richie looked down in the dirty hands on his lap. They were trembling. They had been trembling ever since he fell out of the lights … Only slowly the realization set in, as adrenaline washed out of his system, that he had been dangling 20 feet off of the ground in that horrible monsters lights– _dead_ lights, that had rummaged through his soul, his emotions and memories. Showing him the future–

Richie shook his head. He couldn't concentrate on that now.

What if Eddie died? Back in the car he had said some things. Some … stupid things. But at that moment they just felt about right. He had been holding them back so long, the fear of loosing Eds, of never having that chance to say them had made him spill the beans, despite being shown a certain future were– Richie stopped himself. What if the others had heard?!

A gentle touch to his hand made him look up.

Through his mud smeared and cracked glasses he saw Beverly’s concerned face. She smiled, but he could see the uncertainty behind it.

„You looked like you saw a ghost,“ Beverly joked weakly.

„Just the future,“ he replied.

„He’ll make it, you know,“ Beverly said. „You should have seen the determination in his eyes when he threw that spear at … IT. He didn’t get all that brave just to leave us now.“

Richie shrugged his shoulders. Wanting to convince himself that anxiety wasn’t eating him inside out. „Yeah well, maybe. But the spaghetti man just about died every time he had to touch a door handle. This thing is really _real_.“

„Don’t be so dark, Richie. Eddie did it for you. You two were always so close and the least you could do for him now is to believe in him–“

And that had hit too close to home. Richie shot up. All eyes turned on him.

„We’re just friends! And a week ago we didn’t even know each other existed! Maybe he shouldn’t’ve put his life on the line for someone he doesn’t really know!“ Richie snapped, his heart thumping up to his throat. Guilt snapping at his heels again.

Seeing the Losers shocked faces he felt himself turn red.

„I just- I meant …“ Richie began but stopped. He rubbed a hand across his face and back through his tousled hair and walked out of the waiting room.

In front of the reception he came to a stop and put on his best smile. In that case it looked like he had swallowed a lemon whole.

„Excuse me miss, is there any chance for a dash of valium? As you can see, I am very distraught,“ Richie asked and gestured in a vague circle around his face. „I wouldn’t say no to a phenobarbital, too.“

The nurse looked aghast. „Sir, this isn’t a drug free-for-all! Please return to the waiting area or I will have you removed.“

„Fine, alright,“ Richie huffed, throwing his hands wide. „Still, I had better service at the local gas station.“ And added under his breath „Dump.“

And with that he slunk back to the waiting room were the Losers all huddled together and talked in low voices. Guilt gnawed at him again. First, Eddie risked his life for him and now he yelled at his friends. Whom he forgot he had.

When he sat back down Beverly shot him an apologetic smile and handed him a tiny styrofoam cup.

„Sorry, Richie. I didn’t want to make you feel responsible for Eddie’s situation. Here’s some tea. Coffee machine’s out of order.“

„Oh, great,“ Richie took a sip of the brown-colored, weak brew and lapsed into silence self hatred once more.

***

That night Eddie was wheeled out of the OR and into intensive care. He was alive, but only barely. If he made it through to tomorrow he would be fine.

As a small, sad troupe the Losers drove back to the inn. After another hour of shared and troubled silence in the main room and only some alcohol, they all went to bed.

For most of the night Richie lay awake with pictures and sounds from the past few days nearly bursting his head. Especially his memories … or should he say vision from the deadlights that had filled his head completely only to leave him with on dreadful warning that only reinforced what he had done all the time … Fighting the rising dread all that chaos slowly circled in on one ultimate fact, one truth that kept him up: He still loved Eddie.

Getting back to Derry had resulted in memories returning to him like flotsam found at the beach. Some were made of pretty and bright sea glass and others were just soggy old driftwood. Loving Eddie was … driftwood that needed to be disposed off. Being gay in a town like Derry, with people like Henry Bowers was a death sentence. Falling in love with his best friend was even worse.

Richie moaned and rolled onto his back, sticking his hairy legs out of the suffocating blanket.

When his parents had relocated and left Derry, the painful truth of loving Eddie began to fade away. He had just become another repressed gay in L.A., drowning his sorrows in drugs and alcohol, shielding himself from prying looks behind the façade of a witty and lewd trash-mouth comedian.

He had always hated that part of himself. Being gay in a world like this separated you, if you wanted it or not. Every time he talked to a person, it was as if a wall of glass was separating them. Richie could never fully reach out to people, tell them who he was, what he felt. After Derry and the Losers he had never been close with anyone.

He had come to accept that isolation.

But now there was a chance to leave all of that behind, but the old catch-22 had rolled around again: Acting upon his feelings and risk being alienated by society, or shutting down his true self and live on alone but being admired by his audience.

His public image was everything Richie had. Behind that was only a sad, lonely man.

***

The next morning they drove back to the hospital. Everyone anxious to know what had happened to their friend. Without much ado they were told, that mister Kaspbrak was in a stable condition and was kept in an artificial coma to give the body the time and rest it needed to start healing on itself.

That was when the routine of dreary waiting settled in.

No one was quite ready to quit Derry just yet. Somehow it didn’t feel right to leave Eddie in the care of the hospital and trusting them to get him back home when he was fit enough to be moved. So the Losers settled in, made a lot of phone calls and waited.

In that time Richie tried to equip himself for the inevitable moment, when he would meet Eddie and leave him behind again. It would be the reopening of an old wound he didn’t know he possessed. But he desperately needed it to stop bleeding. The thing was, even as a kid he couldn’t resist picking at the scab forming over a torn knee. He just knew, that after meeting Eddie again, he wouldn’t stop thinking about him.

***

Finally after two weeks of waiting and encountering lost childhood memories, Eddie had woken up.

Fiddling with the hem of his frayed leather jacket – he hadn’t bothered to buy another one, since he hated interacting with Derry townlife any more than he had to – Richie looked outside the window as they drove up to that dreary building that called itself hospital. Seeing it like that in the early grey morning light, he remembered how often he and the Losers had visited Eddie there, after his mother had dragged him there because of a fantasy disease. And after he had been attacked by IT and got his arm broken.

And it had happened again. This time Eds got impaled by a giant killer-clown.

„God, I hate that giant block of concrete,“ Richie moaned.

Mike laughed. „Yeah, me too. I remember I had to get my arm set after I broke it climbing up a tree.“

„I think every child in Derry had their fucking arms set here. I just hope they put a snuggly tight cast on Eds, so he doesn’t break in half. Again,“ Richie joked, trying to get in the spirit. In the spirit of shutting down the rising nausea and sadness behind some misplaced humor.

„Richie!“ Three voices assaulted him from the back.

„Beep beep, Richie, really,“ Bill said.

„Just sayin’.“

When they had braved the grim receptionist they were shown to the intensive care ward were everything seemed to be made out of plastic. From the 70ies. So much for keeping up to date with the medical standards in Derry General Hospital.

The nurse indicated one of the many doors, told them only half an hour if the patient was up to it. She would check in accordingly.

Richie couldn’t hide the tremor in his hands so he hung back, letting Bill open the door. Next to not buying a new jacket, he had also refrained from getting some relaxants. And with everyone in the main room eating breakfast together it was too hard to get a swig of one of the better whiskeys Mike had in the cabinets.

The door gave way and they all swarmed into a similar plasticy room with a bed and a lot of machines.

In the middle of the bed was Eddie. He looked like a shell of himself. His usually slight frame seemed to be even more fragile with the huge nightshirt they had given him. And his usually quite pale skin – _I need SPF 50 in that skincancer-inducing mid-march sun!_ – looked even more pallid, with all the blood drained from it.

Also there was a huge plaster over the cur from Bower's knife.

Two slim tubes went up under Eddie's nose, apparently topping Eddie off with some sweet oxygen. Above that, his eyes cracked open a fraction.

Richie had to battle himself as he felt the need to rush in and hug Eddie as tight as he could. But that wouldn’t do. A, he might really break Eds in half and B, it would look pretty gay. So Richie dug his hands in his pockets instead.

„ 'Sup, Spaghetti man,“ he said.

„Eddie!“ The others exclaimed as they drew closer.

„How d’you feel?“ Bill wanted to know as he was the first to be heard over their joyous ruckus.

„Yeah, you look like a sack of balls, ha ha,“ Richie added and got some looks.

Eddie blinked and opened his eyes a little more. His dry lips parted. „Don’t … call me that, dipstick.“ He even attempted to raise his hands in one of his typical chops.

The tension was gone and everyone broke out in laughter. Richie couldn’t hold back and just grabbed Eds head between his hands and smacked a goopy kiss on his forehead.

„Here ya go, from your momma!“ He announced, feeling his heart tear.

„Richie, no!“ Mike sputtered but the rest had to laugh. So did Eddie. As far as his wounds and bandages allowed.

„Yeah, yeah,“ he croaked. „Stick it, Rich.“

Slowly they settled down more comfortably in that bare room. Everybody’s eyes were on Eddie, who smiled weakly back at them.

„How are you Eddie? What do you remember?“ Bill asked.

„I … I’m not sure. I just know that we were in the cave beneath Neibolt and … That IT hunted us. I … had a spear,“ he whispered.

Guilt made Richie twitch.

„Damn well you did, Spartacus. You saved my miserable life from that monster. Never knew you had it in you,“ Richie supplied.

Eddie turned his head and looked at Richie, his brown eyes dulled by painkillers.

„I did?“

„Y-y-you did,“ Bill confirmed, also struck with guilt. “I really need to a-apologize how I yelled at you, up at the Neibolt House. If I hadn’t you wouldn’t have felt the need to put yourself on the line like that.“

Richie sniffed. Somehow he had believed … well fancied that Eddie had done it for him. Not just because Bill had yelled at him. But then again it seemed more likely that Bill was the reason. Not everyone was a mid-forties repressed gay man who loved to daydream about his teenage-crush.

Eddie’s eyes flickered back to Richie for one second before he laughed hoarsely, „Ha, then you owe me now, sucker.“

Despite his sudden dive in emotions, Riche grinned. „You wish tuna fish! Who do you think pulled you out of that damn cave?“

„That was me, actually,“ Mike cut in with a grin. „Richie was out crying.“

„Was not!“

„Sure was!“

Stifling a laugh, Beverly added, „Anyways, we killed IT.With your help. We made it feel small and it just … shrank.“

„Into a gooey puddle of slime,“ Richie cut in.

Suddenly Eddie’s face came to live, color rising to his cheeks.

„You did?“

„You bet on it,“ Ben replied. „Then, we just … crushed its heart.“

They stayed with Eds as long as they could, filling in the blanks he had due to his coma and the heavy trauma to his body. All through their conversation Richie kept up a happy, grinning façade, but it was beginning to hurt. He just wanted to hug Eds, plaster him with kisses … But he knew he had to leave. The longer he stayed, the harder it would get.

„But there’s something,“ Eddie began, his voice already fading, his eyelids fluttering with the approach of sleep.

„What’s that?“ Beverly asked.

„I heard a voice …“

Richie looked up.

„In the … in the car. Telling me that … it, it … l…“ And Eddie nodded of, his head rolling gently to one side.

Panic made Richie jump up. Eddie had heard him!. That must have been what he was trying to tell them. He had–

„Relax,“ Mike told Richie.

„What? What do you mean?“

„He’s just fallen asleep. He’s fine.“

„I know _that_ ,“ Richie shot back, trying to make a funny face. At least the others didn’t know what Eddie was getting at. „Can’t even follow a simple conversation these old people nowadays, ha ha.“

The Losers frowned at Richie’s accustomed wrongly placed humor.

„Time’s up. Please close the door behind you when you leave,“ the nurse announced as she came in and left again for the next visitors she had to shoo away from her patient.

Richie heaved an internal sight. Finally! He had to get out of here. Out of this room, this hospital, this town. Still, he hung back as the others left and turned to Eds again. Tears pressed against his eyes and his trembling fingers reminded him even more of the missing relaxants and alcohol than his heaving gut ever could. Still, he leaned down and placed a careful kiss on Eddie’s temple.

„Sorry I’ll never take that chance …“


	2. Setting out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having returned from his ordeal in Derry, Eddie finds himself drawing conclusions of his former life that give him the strength to make a final decision: Some relationships need to be broken, other have to be picked up again. It is time to be brave.

It had been eight weeks. And still not a single fucking call.

After Eddie had woken up in Derry General all of his friends were there. Alive and well. Everyone had talked head over heels, trying to tell him what had happened, how they were finally free of their childhood curse. It all seemed perfectly normal, except for Richie.

Eddie wasn't sure if it had been the painkillers but Richie had felt far away. His jokes, his laughter only performed halfheartedly.

Annoyingly, Eddie had had no fucking chance to find out why he acted like that, because all of the Losers had remained in Derry until he had been released. Riche hadn't.

The others told him that Richie hadn't been able to cancel a show his manager had booked for him months before. But that he had promised to call after handing out his cellphone number like a stud in a night club. So naturally Eddie had planned to write him a message the second he was back home.

***

Tipping the cabdriver generously with grimy dollar bills Eddie held awkwardly between his knuckles, he slipped out of the car, dragging his onslaught of baggage with him. That and his still tender mid-riff made him limp.

It had taken Eddie another two weeks to be finally able to leave Derry General for good. The Losers had waited patiently for him to get better, before returning to their normal life. Or as good as normal as it was apparent that Beverly and Ben needed a room. Or in fact a whole bungalow and a honeymoon to boot. Despite being eager to get back home, all had sworn to stay in touch.

Now Eddie stood before the huge white and grey apartment complex where he and his wife had moved into years before as a result of a fortunate promotion. It takes a hypochondriac to assess risks in their complexity.

In Eddies eyes, viruses were just as bad in an IT-infrastructure as they were inside a human body. Especially his body.

The entrance of the complex was all marble and chrome. Not a single speck of dust anywhere. Eddie tried to feel relieved and relaxed by that, but he couldn't.

Stepping into the shiny mirrored elevator even made him feel anxious. After all that had happened, he should be happy to return to his life. His normal life. Here he knew all the risks and all the dangers. But having spent an entire month with his childhood friends in the town of their youth had brought back so many memories, so many wishes that had been lost.

He had pursued none of them. One he regretted especially.

A sting pierced his mid-section. Eddie winced and covered his bandaged torso with his hand. He knew he couldn't let that wish ever go again.

When Eddie had woken up in the Derry General Hospital he hadn't even been sure if he was alive. His whole recent memory had been made up of light, blanks and voices.

IT had nearly cut him in half and transformed his whole body into one single unit of pain. Erasing every thought, memory and sense in him. Until Eddie had heard that voice.

Dimly he remembered parts of the drive to the hospital. The Losers had filled him in, that all six of them had fit into Ben's fast but tiny sports car. He in the back, held fast by Mike, Bill and … Richie. Back then, that voice had a pull on him, that made him rise from the the inevitable whiteness that had begun to close around him as his blood drained away.

It had been a voice he had attuned himself to over all these years. He just had forgotten until it brought him back to live–

"Where have you been?!"

Hit by the sudden screech Eddie nearly slipped on the apartment doorstep.

"Myra, It's nothing. I–" Eddie began, as he quickly crossed the hallway to get to the living room.

"Lies," his wife cut him off. Nothing new there. "You just vanished for a whole month, without saying anything. And now you come back limping up the hallway?! I told you, you shouldn't go out by yourself, it's _dangerous_ outside."

Eddie had hoped to avoid his wife, that maybe she had gone upstate to stay with her family, when he … had left. But no such luck.

And he should have known. His wife didn't have a job. Quite early on in their relationship she had made it clear, that she saw her job in caring for him and keeping him safe. Now that he had been "lost" she wouldn't even leave the house to shop for groceries.

The living room was littered with delivery food boxes. His skin crawled as he imagined all the germs eating away at the leftover food pieces.

"Myra please, it's fine." Eddie persisted. "I was just hiking with some of my childhood friends and had an accident. Reception was terrible, everything was head over heels, we forgot to call you."

"A whole month long?!“

Eddie tried to push his way past his overbearing wife who blocked the stairs up to their bedroom. Then a push to his chest sent him staggering backwards with a painful yelp.

"See, there!" She cried. "Nothing's fine! We're going to a hospital this instant. And then you will tell me everything, Eddie. You can't have secrets. They're not safe. I am your wife, I have a right to know."

She grabbed him by the arm, making him drop his heavy bags full of clothes. And medicine. And replacement clothes. And two extra sweaters and a full set of anti-allergic bedspreads.

"You are sick. You need help. _My help_ ," she continued.

Suddenly the roomy and light apartment seemed crowded and dark. Oppressive. And then it burst out.

"For fuck's sake, Myra! I am not sick and I don't need help!" Eddie screamed. Although it wasn't a scary scream, more of a high pitched, hoarse cough.

"Delusional!" Myra shot back. "You must have a fever, let me–" She reached out a hand to cover his forehead but the slapped it away with a vicious blow.

"Don't you. Ever. Fucking. Touch me. Again! I surely didn't stab that motherfucking clown just to be told by you that I am weak and sick!"

"Oh my God, Eddie. You're delirious," Myra pressed on. Her round face covered in sweat and her small eyes frantic.

Eddie tried to take a deep breath but he couldn't.

"You stupid cow! Delirious my ass! I just came home from a traumatizing event concerning my childhood friends and a fucking killer clown with a fuckton of teeths! I'm not delirious. I'm not sick. I'm fed up with you!"

That gave Myra pause. Her huge frame still stood in his way but suddenly her anger had washed out of her.

"But Eddie, darling!" She cried with huge crocodile tears welling up in her eyes. "Why would you say that? You must be sick, very, very sick–"

"I'm not sick, I'm gay! Now leave this fucking apartment and get a job as a poodle-hairdresser – I don't even give a shit anymore. Just– leave!“

Eddie's head swam with anger, with exhaustion and also with a newfound emotion he never knew he had. Bravery. Finally he had stepped up to his wife. A woman that was too much like his mother. Overbearing and oppressive. Taking control of his life and killing every aspect of free will he might have had. There had never been room in that marriage for him or his dreams.

And Eddie realized, he didn't need that. He had friends, he had himself. He had slain monsters far worse than her.

Looking up, he saw Myra's ashen face. Her whole body wobbling with uncried sobs.

"I'll drive upstate to mother!" She gurgled. "I'll be back when you're better again and know how to behave yourself!"

With that she swung around, grabbed her dainty handbag and slammed the door.

Finally Eddie had arrived in his new life.

***

After returning the contents of his bags to their appropriate wardrobes and cupboards Eddie sat down gently on the huge bed. With trembling fingers he fished for the cell in his trousers, got it out and typed.

_'Trashmouth! How is stupid showbiz going? This is Eddie by the way, IF you remember me. Please only refer to me by that name. Even you dimwitted moron should be able to spell it. Just calling in to say I'm out of the hospital and back in NYC. If you even know where that is.'_

_***_

Eight weeks later Eddie rolled onto his his back in the king sized bed he now had to himself. Myra had called several times but Eddie hadn't answered. He figured that papers from a divorce lawyer would do the trick.

And besides, there were more pressing things on his mind right now. Keeping him from sleeping. That and his aching ribs. The wound that fucking clown had given him had healed perfectly. Still Eddie felt sore and could swear that something still wasn't right. Were ribs supposed to move like that, when you stretched after getting up? Did that scar always look like that or did it move?

Sighing, Eddie rubbed a hand over his face and stared into the grim darkness of the bedroom. A voice inside his head kept on screaming.

_„Please! I love you! I didn’t get the chance to tell you sooner, but please please please give me that chance!“_

When the Losers had come to visit him the first day in hospital, he barely managed to stay awake. But then that all too familiar voice with the all too hated nickname made him rise once more.

_„'Sup, Spaghetti man.“_

Eddie had to grin.

Back in Derry, in his childhood, he had always tried to put it out. The funny feeling he got when he was with Richie. Being with him had made him giddy, yearning for his attention, wanting to make him laugh. All Eddie really ever did was tease him. But to be fair, he was insulted first. _What's even a spaghetti man?!_ So that's all good.

Eddie hadn't dared to act on his feelings, not knowing how the other boy would react. It was a small town. They all had small minds. And judging by Richie’s trashmouth talk it wouldn't have been a good reaction.

So Eddie just carved a heart with a single capital R into the railing of the bridge before he moved away and forgot. Up until now.

It had been Richie's voice in the back of the car. Confessing his love. Confessing the guilt of never having taken a chance. But then, all Richie had done after the death of IT was to visit him for about 30 minutes, flinging about some your-mom-jokes and then disappear again.

Now, that Eddie had reached out to him, he was sure that they could … Talk things over. Maybe they weren't too far gone from each other.

After the text, there hadn't been an answer.

Why would Richie do that? If he loved him, why not take that chance and tell him? They both had only escaped death by a hair's breadth, so now it was time to live life to the fullest.

***

In the following days Eddie slowly reclaimed his life. Or should he say start into his new life?

At first, he got rid of all of Myra’s clothes and belongings. Just grabbing wildly into their once shared closed he pulled out armload after armload of tent-sized dresses, skirts and shirts in offending pastel colors that had always made her look like an overblown bonbon.

He stuffed all of it into huge cardboard boxes which he sealed vigorously with brown tape, ready for shipping off to his ex-wife. The divorce had finally come through.

All of his colleagues and immediate friends – or acquaintances as Eddie called them now because none of them had fought a huge ass monster for their lives with him – were aghast at the sudden change in his oh-so-steady life. He and his wife had seemed to be the perfect couple.

When he told them, that in fact he had been in a rather toxic and controlling marriage with his wife, where she was the oppressive part, everyone was taken aback. Surely such a kind-hearted and caring wife could never do that!

And when he told them after that, that he was in fact also gay, but never acted on it because of said wife, a good three quarters took their leave from such an intimate conversation with their distant work colleague Mr Edward Kaspbrak.

But Eddie didn’t care. By now he was so high up the ranks in the company that no one dared fire him or look at him the wrong way. He was the only one to juggle huge assessment- and implementation-cases, that if his bosses would fire him, they couldn’t assess the damage it would have on the company. And as far as they were concerned, as long as he didn’t dance with a man on their annual Christmas Ball, everything was tickety-boo.

Still, it felt like living on borrowed time and that had to change. Shaking his head at their ignorance, Eddie reached into the closet again.

By now he had learned that life was far too short to hold back because of other people. He had got rid of Myra, no one would ever step in his way again!

Except maybe bacteria. And germs. And some pretty nasty viruses! But that Eddie could handle, at least those things didn’t discriminate.

Tugging at another heavy bulk of clothes, Eddie felt a resistance. Ignoring his aching ribs, he pulled harder, the clothes came free and immediately barreled over him. With a startled scream he fell back onto the plush white carpet, knocking the air out of his asthmatic lungs. Oh right, what asthma? His inhaler had only been a gazebo!

His giddy laugh was cut short when a cardboard box hit him squarely in the forehead.

„Ouch! Fucking shit, Myra!“

Angry at his ex-wife’s bunkering in the closet, Eddie rolled around and knocked the box aside. The offending object skidded over the carpet, onto the tiled flood and banged against the bedstand, springing open.

Eddie got up and made to grab the box and throw it away, he halted dead in his tracks. It was his.

Outside light rain pattered against the floor to ceiling windows. Otherwise the room was dead silent.

Haltingly Eddie moved up to the grey-green box and got down on his knees. With trembling hands he pushed the lid back entirely to reveal the contents.

The box held a myriad of things: A rock, a very much creased t-shirt, an inhaler, a lot of paper, photographs and comics and … a pair of broken glasses. Eddie’s heart stopped, a sob escaped his rigid body.

Gently he extracted the thickly rimmed glasses and held it against his chest. Closing his eyes he could see the day he had taken them as clearly as if it was yesterday. They had been running from the Bowers gang. Somehow they had irked his temper. Again. And this time there had been no way to make a grand stand so they just fled wildly though the underbrush of the nearby forest.

In their flight, Richie had been hit in the face by a low hanging branch. Knocking the glasses right off. His cheek and forehead had been plastered in scratches and blood that Eddie had no time to think. Afraid of Bowers, afraid of other peoples blood and … afraid for Rich, he had just grabbed the slightly befuddled boy and dragged him to safety into the nearest ditch. Cowering together, Eddie had felt the heat radiating of Richie’s body. Felt the blood of his face dripping onto his shoulder.

When the stampede of the Bowers gang had passed, they slipped out. Richie franticly so.

„Shit, Spaghetti man! That was a close fucking call if there ever was one!“

„Shut it, Richie! You’re bleeding!“

„That’s not my worst problem, dimwit, I can’t find my glasses! My parents will behead me! And then, there will be blood spilled!“

Eddie had just pursed his mouth in disgust, twisting his shoulders so the bloodied t-shirt would un-stick from his skin, but it didn’t. Getting rid of his shirt he had followed a completely agitated Richie in searching the ground and leaf heaps for the glasses. No luck.

Beaten and subdued they had gone back to find the rest of the Losers.

At the End of the day, Eddie had accompanied Richie home, carrying his now wet shirt – as he had tried to wash the blood out – over his shoulder.

„I’m sorry about the glasses.“ Eddie had said, as they stepped into the sun streaked street. It had been a lovely summer so far.

„Don’t worry your pretty head over it, Eds. My parents knew what they were getting into when they made me,“ Richie had joked.

„I think no one could ever have estimated how huge of a shithead you would turn out to be.“

„Also true. I am magnificent in my form! Anyways, here we are. You should take care of that,“ Richie had said and pointed towards Eddie’s chest.

„What?!“ Eddie had gasped. Was there a cut on him he had missed? Looking down, he had seen nothing but his bare chest, when Richie flipped his index finger against his nose.

„Your freaking bare nips, man! Ha ha, see you tomorrow, Eddie Spaghetti!“

Eddie snorted. Tears welled up underneath his closed eyelids, finding their way down his haggard face.Weeks in a hospital and the recovering of a lost teenage love will do that to you.

Beholding the glasses with a fond gaze, Eddie let the end of that memory wash over him.

A few days later Eddie had gone back to the forrest were Richie had lost his glasses. And there it had been, stuck underneath a twisted root. When Eddie had gone back to show Rich his find, the boy just returned from the optician with his mother, sporting a new even ticker rimmed version that before. So he would never loose them again, since the weight would drag him down.

Seeing his chance, Eddie had just kept the glasses hidden. This was the closest he could get to Richie.

Surfacing from the memory, Eddie blinked the tears from his eyes. But he _could_ get closer to Richie. And if Richie was too chickenshit, then Eddie would have to make a move.

***

It had taken some time to organize his trip to LA. After Eddie had set his mind on confronting Richie, he had a long telephone call with Bill, who was equally taken aback that Eddie had split up with his wife. When asked, why he wanted Richie's address, Eddie had answered that he just needed a change of scenes and someone who was stupid enough to live life so recklessly that it would certainly take his mind of Myra.

Right now it was too soon for him to spill the beans with the Losers.

But Bill had believed Eddie just the same and happily forwarded Richie's address. And off Eddie went.


	3. Arriving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Eddie has arrived at Richie's place and tries to to reconnect with his friend who seems unusually closed off. While spending time together long lost memories resurface but also new arguments arise.

**PART II – Seemed like a long time to come**

Eddie hated traveling. It wasn't the idea of traveling as much as it was the churning masses of breathing, sweating and coughing humans, a hot bed for germs and diseases, as were the handles on trains and airport doors, the already-been-sat-in seats and the only sporadically disinfected interiors of second-rate cabs.

Never mind the risks of flying. Or leaving your own house for that matter.

When Eddie finally arrived in front of Richie's house – well, Mansion, with a capital M, since it had a front gate, security cameras and Eddie was pretty sure that that was a huge pool he saw sparkling from beneath the palm tree thicket – he was downright grumpy.

All the stress had kept him from assessing the risk he was taking right now in seeking out Richie and … trying to act on his childhood feelings.

Pushing up his sunglasses despite the glaring Californian sun, Eddie pressed the door bell.

Nothing happened.

Eddie pressed it again.

After ten seconds the loudspeaker next to the bell came alive with a crackle.

"I don't give any fucking interviews without an appointment."

"Alright, fuck you, too," Eddie snapped, his eyes flying wide in exasperation.

"Eds?!"

The gate buzzed and slowly rumbled aside, giving way to a broad, rather expansive looking driveway that Eddie had to drag his bags along.

Reaching the squarish and modern-looking house a wide door with huge translucent glass windows swung open. In the newly opened doorway stood Richie. His wavy hair a mess, a new set of glasses barring his eyes and an offensively patterned combo of Hawaii shirt and cargo shorts clinging awkwardly to his frame.

"Shit. What the fuck are you even doing here?" Richie wanted to know, his mouth pulled into a confused sneer. Showing his lopsided teeth.

"Why thank you, the trip was nice, actually," Eddie shot back and let his luggage drop to the ground.

"Any trip is nice when it ends at my house. Ask any babe in town. Wohooo!"

"You tell yourself that, moron."

Suddenly Richie grinned, seemingly having overcome an inner barrier, and pulled Eddie into a hug.

"C'mere, Eddie Spaghetti!"

Overwhelmed by the flush bodily contact, Eddie just let himself be reeled in and hugged back. Careful not to hold onto the other man too long.

"And don't fucking call me that! I even told you that in my text, but you never answered. Thanks for that, I guess, asshole," Eddie grumbled, his hand flying up in a straight line before straightening out the creases in the front of his slim-fit shirt.

"Oh shit, fuck, yeah, your text! Sorry I forgot about that," Riche laughed and scratched his back awkwardly. "Why are you here then? To what do I owe the pleasure of such a pretty face on my doorstep?"

Eddie felt his cheeks burn.

"You never learn, do you?"

"Not in this lifetime I don't," Richie agreed happily. Or almost.

"I divorced Myra," Eddie explained deadpan.

"What, you got divorced from your very real, female wife that really wasn't only your mom?" Richie threw his hands wide theatrically. "My, that must be like loosing an imaginary friend. Real hard, that one."

"Fuck you, Richie Tozier. The only friends you have are imaginary, so shut your jap."

"If that's so, you're not even here and I'm talking to myself. Right, just let me close that door on my imaginary friend," Richie said then leaned forward and whispered with a wink, "I never really liked that sucker."

"Nice try, trashmouth," Eddie scoffed and pushed past Richie into the huge hallway.

"Oi, Spaghetti Man! What's with the fucking luggage?" Richie called after him.

"Imaginary friends don't have fucking luggage, so that must be yours."

***

Still slightly confused and somewhat bumbling Richie had shown Eddie through his house. It was huge, clean cut and comfortable, but also strewn with odds and ends that were unmistakably Richie's: Shirts, socks and other pieces of bright clothing littered the floors, half read comics and magazine were thrown over armrests and every available tabletop, candy wrappers, ashtrays and paper, inscribed with stupid one-liners and incoherent 'funny' monologues littered the free places in between.

Finding a room next to the master bedroom, Richie had retreated to let Eddie settle in, catching the rather prominent 'I haven't fucking showered in 24 goddamned hours and germs are eating me alive'-vibe.

Somehow Eddie was glad for the space. It was as if they were two pieces of one puzzle, but not the ones that went together. They didn't click.

Sure, Eddie hadn't planned on slamming the deets on the table and outright asking Richie if he meant what he had said in Derry. But he somehow had expected that their getting along would be more fluent, more … natural, as it had been two months ago. But then, there hadn't been that distracting knowledge of Richie's confession on his mind. And certainly not the rediscovered feelings of a childhood crush.

After a lengthy shower and a change of clothes Eddie returned from the first floor to the open living room, via a wide gallery and staircase.

"You sure do have an unexpected good sense of architecture. For an idiot," Eddie remarked as he plopped down on the light grey couch Richie already sat on, nursing a beer. Or a fifth, going by the empty bottles before them.

"Yeah well, I'm quite a rich idiot, sooo …" Richie grinned at him. "I had people have that taste for me."

"Figures." Eddie reached for a beer, removed the cap, industriously cleaned the mouth of the bottle, studied it for a second, then took a swallow.

"Just because my come-backs are vicious, doesn't mean that I'm so toxic that it spoils my beer."

Eddie raised his eyebrows as if to say _'As if'_ , but left it at that.

An awkward silence settled on them as they both sat side by side, beer in hand and just stared into the messy room. Outside the sun was trying to beat any nuclear reactor that the air sparkled with heat. Despite that the air conditioning steadily pumped cool air and germs into the house. Eddie shuddered.

Richie coughed and leaned forward. "So, er, you ok? Orrr … dunno, need another hug? I might have another one knocking about." He lifted the hem of his shirt and looked under it.

"What?" Eddie surfaced from his own reverie.

"You-e sad-e, Eduardo, becaus-e off-e your-e divorce?" Richie offered.

"Fuck, no," Eddie scoffed. Then remembered and added, "Well, a little. I mean … somehow. I just … needed change of scene and … after you just up and vanished after Derry, I figured I'd come here."

"Hey, I visited you in that freaky, stupid hospital! Just had to … get on you know?"

"Sure. Just … we don't forget anymore, IT's dead, so we can still hang, right?"

That must have been something that resonated with Richie, since his face lit up.

"Sure we can hang, Eds! I'm the master of hanging around."

"I can see that.Your place's a fucking mess."

"Oh _that_. Miranda's on holiday, so I leave her some work when she comes back. So she feels useful," Richie explained and indicated the mess around them with a generous sweep of his arm.

"Who?" Eddie wanted to know.

"The nice cleaning lady I got, but since you're here for some time, I can give Miranda off another say … four weeks? Maybe cleaning my house will fill the undoubtedly huuuge void you ex-wife left in your heart."

"Dream on," Eddie had to grin despite the hesitation he still felt in the air between them.

"I mean that really huge void."

"Yeah, whatever."

"I can see it from here!"

"Alright, alright, get off me, dipshit!

Eddie burst into grumbling laughter as Richie flung himself at him and they bickered like in the good old days. Maybe those two puzzle pieces could fit together still.

***

Richie was completely undone. Why the fuck was Eddie here?

Sure, their shared, horrible childhood clown was dead, they had all of their memories and friends back and so nothing stood in the way of rekindling old friendships. Especially those with whom you had killed an otherworldly monster. These kinds of things made you stick together. Oddly enough.

But having confessed your love to your dying childhood boy-crush in the back of a speeding car rather put a damper on that. Especially when your current celebrity alter ego was a male chauvinist comedian who's gayest experience it was to drink sparkling wine at a show's premiere.

Also the certain knowledge that things would go only downhill if you ever acted upon your feelings were things that kept you back. Being gay had never done anything good for him in his life and he had worked around that by burying that part deep inside of him and soldiered on as the good ol' sexist heterosexual. Old habits die hard.

So Richie had hoped he had left everything behind in Derry. But once again these things came back and haunted him.

But unable to stop his inner desire, Richie had given in to the joy he had felt when he saw Eddie's still narrow, but ultimately more alive face this morning. And now he wanted to hang! Well that sure was something he could do.

Maybe spending some weeks with the other man would cure him of his boyish fantasies and just certify what a worry wart Eddie was. Not a lovable feature at all!

"I _said_ , you have to get that cleaned up, idiot."

"What?" Richie sat up in his chair, an empty bourbon glass in his hand. He needed something to calm his nerves.

"The stash of dirty fucking socks in my guest room," Eddie reminded him. His eyebrows drawn so high up they could have vanished in his hairline.

When Eddie had been done setting up camp in Richie's guest room, Richie had offered to show him around LA. So they went off – only after applying numerous layers of sunscreen in Eddie's case – seeing the sights. Now for the evening they had settled into Richie's favorite Mexican restaurant.

It had taken Richie a full ten minutes to convince Eddie that no, he wouldn't get diarrhea from the food here and yes, this was a registered facility, allowed by the law, to hand out food to civilians. And that there _sure_ were gluten-free tacos. Whatever gluten was. Richie didn't eat Russian.

So he had to make the most of it and ordered a wagon's-load worth of meals that every inch of their table was covered. And over the course of two hours filled with good food and one or two drinks – six in Richie's case – they had talked.

It was the first time in years that Richie felt heard. Sure, they flung insults and remarks across the table like nobody's business, but still the core of their conversation was real. Downing another shot Richie tried to numb the feeling of attachment that blossomed in his heart.

"You sure haven't changed, Eds," Richie heard himself say wistfully. And regretted it instantly.

But somehow this time Eddie didn't appear to be riled by the nickname. He rather looked very pensive, his dark brown eyes settling on Richie like a weight.

"Some things … haven't changed," Eddie agreed and swirled the ice cube around his Margarita.

"I mean, you're still a terrible worry wart," Richie tried to get out of the weird place they were going into. "I remember that one time you ate a chocolate bar at the club house and only found out an hour later that the best before date was due three years ago."

"Hey, I literally could have died that day!" Eddie shot back, his face red and his hands spread wide with exasperation.

"Well I certainly died of boredom," Richie chuckled as he remembered. "I spent the whole day sitting in front of your bathroom door. Listening to you. Shitting."

Eddie sat up straight. "I didn't shit!"

"Aha!" Richie cried triumphantly. "Because it was nothing, the chocolate was fine!"

"No chocolate that is three years off is 'fine'! I was in pain!"

Richie dissolved into laughter as he remembered that warm, lazy summer's day. For once Eddie's mom had been out and it had just been he and him inside that stuffy house. Richie had watched the dust motes flying through the air as he had sat in the hallway, making up shit to distract Eddie, to coax him out of the bathroom. Eddie had always worried about them, patched them up if one of them had a bloodied knee. Then it had been Richie's turn to take care of Eds. Maybe that was what Eddie needed right now. Maybe that was why he had come and not the stupid thing Richie had said in the back of the car.

Richie looked up. Eddie's face was still red with frustration that the white scar on his cheek clearly showed. His eyes were dark and sad.

But suddenly Eddie smiled awkwardly. "I'm sorry we missed the movie that day because of that fluke."

"Oh Eddie-Spaghetti, nothing can be more romantic that listening to you shit."

"Yeah," Eddie huffed. "Still, I mean it, Rich. Thanks for … keeping an eye out for me that day … And today."

Something in Eddie's voice pierced Richie's heart. Maybe it was the gentleness in it, or the open intimacy of that statement.

Unable to say something rude or dirty Richie had to settle for the truth. And by that he was getting closer than he wanted.

"Sure, dude. Happy to do it." Coughing, he added, "And if you still wanna see a movie, there's this place with awesome nighttime features!"

"Are you insane, trashmouth? You know that we could die out there, right? Get robbed and mugged? Or shot, or, or …" And so Eddie went on.

That night Richie had the best fucking time since he had moved out of Derry.

***

A bright streak of sunlight cut through the huge windows in the open kitchen and set off the grey marble countertop from the white lacquer cupboard doors. It also highlighted all of the grease stains and fingerprints that had accumulated since Miranda's absence.

So before getting any coffee out of that huge ass coffee machine, Eddie had to wipe all the surfaces he was intending to touch.

When he had finally done that, Eddie made two coffees and searched the refrigerator in vain for some soy milk. He had already been thwarted in his search for pre-packed sugar-satchels.

"Barbarian," Eddie muttered under his breath.

Suddenly the door of the major bedroom burst open and Richie ran out.

"Shit, shit, shit," He cursed under his breath as he ran down the stairs, trying to button up a really gross Hawaiian shirt. His fingers were fumbling.

"Good morning to you, too, turd," Eddie offered as the other man reached the kitchen.

"Wha'?" Richie looked up and seemed utterly confused to see Eddie, before his face turned into a lopsided grin. "Oh it's you, the cleaning lady. Where's your little cap and dress?"

"Very funny, Tozier," Eddie grumbled. "Here, I made you some coffee."

For the first time Richie looked speechless. He looked from Eddie to the bright pink flamingo mug that stood on the now gleaming counter. Then he looked back at Eddie. Richie's face was oddly drawn and pale. They hadn't drunken that much yesterday, had they?

"Gee, thanks dude," Richie said, taking the cup.

He took a sip, then seemed to remember something and got a bottle of whiskey out of one of the cupboards and added a generous amount to the coffee.

"What the fuck dude? It's 11 am!" Eddie protested.

"I know! I'm really late for my first drink," Richie agreed, popped some pills into his mouth and drained the mug. "I might be lazy, disorganized, untidy and a general mess, but I sure as fuck have … have …" Richie narrowed his eyes. "Wait, where was I going with that?"

"Well, _I_ sure as fuck don't know, but concerning me, you're saying all the right words," Eddie pursed his lips.

"Oh yeah right! But I sure as fuck have a lot of work to do. Even celebrities do work," Richie concluded, trying to sound serious.

"You're no celebrity, you're a joke. And not even a funny one." Eddie replied, not liking how Richie looked at all. "And what's with the pills anyways? Are you sick?"

"Oh no, it's fine." Richie took a bumbling step back as Eddie approached him with concern in his eyes.

"You sure? It could be dengue fever or zika virus!"

"For chrissake, Eddie, it's fine. After my second cup I'll be right as rain."

"Of coffee?"

"Bourbon, dude! Anyways I really got to run. As I said 'very important person', me. Have fun in the house," Richie said and made for the door, twirling his car keys. "You can use the jacuzzi if you like."

"That's unsanitary!" Eddie yelled after his departing friend but the door had already shut.

Standing alone in the huge kitchen he felt kind of lost. But then again, what did he expect would happen? Getting to the point where he felt he could talk with Richie about that night in Derry was miles off, if yesterday was anything to go by.

Sure, it had been the best night Eddie hat spent in years. But every time he felt them getting closer while talking about their shared past, Richie opted out. It wasn't that Eddie was putting on his heavy flirting since he in fact didn't know how to actually … flirt in gay? He had repressed that aspect of himself successfully for the most part of his adult life. For fuck's sake, he didn't even know how to flirt in straight.

So Eddie was sure there was something else holding Richie back. He certainly didn't look good this morning. Or was it still Derry? Eddie sure had some nightmares then and again. Maybe it was the same for Rich.

Sighing, Eddie collected his mug and went into Richie's office in which Rich had made room for him to work remote.

"Making room" actually only entailed getting rid of the moldy plates and take out food boxes. And also stacking some papers. So given that space was highly contaminated, Eddie returned to the living room and set up his office there.

Maybe some work would take his mind of Richie's condition.

***

The photoshoot had been terrible. That he had to lounge fully clothed in a pool in the midday L.A. sun wasn't the problem. What actually was more trying was the huge breasted and scantly dressed model that was all over him.

He had been working on a new comedy show with the famous writer Allen Marten, since his agency recommended evolving past stand-up comedy. And certainly a third grade sexist sit-com about an aged comedian who tried to live up to his former glory was made for Richie Tozier. It basically was his life.

Biting down on the frustration bubbling up inside him, Richie went trough the poses; A rubber duck float in one arm, the model in another. His hand over her hip, his hand on her breast, she leaning over him in a deck chair, ruffling his hair, holding his drink.

All the while his mind drifted off to Eddie. Eddie, the resolution to all his desires. And all his problems.

Richie was in too deep. Hollywood only cared about you, if you were, male, sexy and sold out. Richie was male and most of his earlier shows had sold out. So two out of three was good. He couldn't loose this.

'This' being the attention from his fans, the public, the media. Attention he had never gotten as a child.

Granted, his parents hadn't been cruel, like Beverly's dad. Or oppressive like Eddie's mom. They just had been … neutral. They had a son. He was not good, not bad at school. He did some reckless stuff, but never had been taken home by a police officer. They had been perfectly indifferent to him.

Surfacing from his lull of self-loathing, Richie tried to pick up on the last strand of conversation floating around him.

"What did ya say, babe?"

"I just said, if you, like, would show me around the set some time, when the filming starts?" The model – Kathrin, Catheryn, Katrin … whatever – repeated, twirling his hair around one of her manicured finger, while the other played with the buttons of his soggy shirt.

That was what L. A. was all about. Getting to the top, be seen, be famous, whatever it takes. Even if it was fucking a mid-fourties jackass comedian.

Falling into the pattern of his well worn alter ego, Richie grinned toothily. "Didya hear that, Clark," he talked to his agent. "This wonderful little bunny here wants to see Wonderland."

"Sure do," she laughed a fake laugh and threw back her fake hair.

"Well my sweet, if there's anybody who can do that, it's Richie fucking Tozier. With that man, you don't need a hubble-bubble to get high."

All people on set guffawed. Richie too. He hated it.

***

"Oi, Eduardo, why you no clean in here?" Richie hollered as he came back home, a folder with the cursed pictures under his arm. They asked him to make a selection of the ones he liked best.

He wanted to burn them, really.

"Stick it, Richie. I'm really _not_ your fucking cleaning lady," came the angry reply from the living room.

The room was dark, only illuminated by Eddie's laptop and the lighting Richie had set on timer for about 8 pm. Yes, he could be grown up like that. And also, he was afraid of the dark.

Seeing Eddie sitting in his living room like he actually belonged here – as if he had waited up for him – nettled Richie. It felt like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey. The most perfect of baits, but always just a hair's breadth out of reach.

"You're not? But why did my kitchen sparkle like that this morning?" Richie theatrically covered his mouth with his hand, getting rid of the folder with a too vicious fling. "Was it magic?"

"You sure need fucking magic to get that mess of kitchen clean again," Eddie snapped. Then looked at the folder. "How's the day?"

Richie twitched. Was Eddie his fucking wife or what?!

"Oh great. It was great." He answered. A touch too clipped. "Had a photoshoot with some really nice models."

"Ok. Good, I guess."

"It was veeery good. In fact _I_ was very good, if you catch my drift, eh Eds?" Richie grinned as good as his temper allowed it.

"Yes, ok, I get it." Eddie snapped. Irritated at the information.

"Well, the girl got it, too," Richie winked and made a explicit gesture with his hand.

Eddie turned red. If from anger or embarrassment, Richie couldn't tell. But he didn't care he just wanted Eddie gone. Out of his sight. Out of his mind. His live, preferably. He couldn't deal with the truth hitting him right in the face every time he saw Eds.

"I said I fucking got it, Richie! What's your fucking problem, asshole?!"

"My problem?!" Richie snapped. "What's your problem, shitface?! This is my fucking house, my fucking life and I talk about whatever the fuck I want. Just because you don't get pussy anymore doesn't mean that I can't!"

What a shit-ton of bullshit. Richie couldn't stop the words spewing from his mouth and just watched the trainwreck unfold.

Just yesterday Eddie had looked at him with such kind, soft eyes, Richie didn't even know his knees could bent like that. But now Eddie's narrow face seemed to be getting slimmer and harder still.

But Eddie didn't say anything. He just stood there. Frozen stiff like he had in Neibolt House. Before he actually had saved Richie's live.

"Shit," Richie mumbled, rubbed a hand through his already tussled hair and just slouched off to the kitchen. Digging up the next best bottle of some alcohol or other and set on emptying it.

"If I'm a nuisance to you, you can just tell me straight, dickweed," Eddie said. His voice low.

Frustration rising in him again, Richie whirled around. They weren't a fucking married couple. What were they arguing about?!

"Shut it, Eddie! You're not a fucking nuisance you're just …" Seeing Eddie like that gave Richie pause.

When they were kids Eddie would actually bite and spit like a cornered cat when he fought with Richie. But now there was just a slight, middle-aged man in front of him, who looked disappointed in his best friend. His hands awkwardly at his sides, worrying the hem of his shirt.

God. How much Richie just wanted to hug him. Kiss him.

"… just in my face." Richie concluded quietly. "I'm sorry. Work really has me on the run around these days."

"Is it work or just your inability to set your alarm clock right?" Eddie shot back, but his slim lips already held a smile.

Laughing and rubbing his face vigorously, Richie replied. "Well yeah, that fucker, too. But now that you're here … maybe show me you can, the ways of the alarm clock, hmmm?"

"That stupid fucking Yoda voice is not working on me!" Eddie warned, jabbing a finger at Richie and fighting the smile splitting his face.

"Not working it is? Hmmm," Richie leaned forward and hobbled towards Eddie who stumbled backwards, cursing between laughter. "More drink you must, young Padawan, hmm!"

Swinging the bottle trough the air Richie ran after Eddie who fled the living room.

"I'm not drinking out of that!"

"But good it is!"

"Go away, dickface. Argh! No! I said no! Richieee!"


	4. Getting on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their recent falling out, Riche and Eddie settle into a comfortable routine of somehow living together. But the peaceful time is disturbed by Richie's ongoing work on the TV show and his more than apparent internal struggle with himself.

The last days had been quiet. But also awkward.

After Richie's little fit of rage the other day he was rather stand offish and a little weird around Eddie. Of course Eddie had asked him the next day, if it really was fine, that he still stayed on for some time and Richie had told him yes, sure! But after that he somehow seemed buried in his work and when at home a little more than drunk.

Still they had some fun evenings watching old movies or playing some games on Richie's brand new Nintendo NES.

Playing those childhood games always brought back fond memories which made Eddie realize how close they actually had been as boys. Back then there didn't seem to be this new found invisible wall that kept them from openly talking to one another.

Of course Eddie had tried to bring it up.

"Fuck! Stop– Stop eating my fucking enemies, fucktard!" Richie gasped and pulled at his controller up to make his little dragon jump higher.

Eddie laughed while his dragon bubbled and ate all the enemies left, securing his win. "You wish, tuna fish!“

They had been playing Bubble Bobble for about two hours already, sitting on the floor of Richie's very expansive but horribly maintained leather couch. Outside the sky was an inky black and a large moon stood high over the houses of Beverly Hills.

Eddie stretched his legs so that his sweatpants rode up at the ankles. revealing his tennis socks. Next to him Richie nearly lay completely on the floor, only his head propped up against the couch, sporting his ugliest boxers: Orange fabric with a blue and green dinosaur pattern.

It felt like a sleepover from the good old times.

"Shit. I used to be good at that game," Riche grumbled.

"What? No, you were terrible at 'Bubble Bobble'. Also you were really bad on 'Legend of Zelda'." Eddie paused. "You really were bad at all games."

"No way, bro! I beat Legend of Zelda,“ Richie exclaimed tipsily with a lopsided grin, made a toast to himself and downed the rest of his whiskey.

"I helped you with that!" Eddie turned around, nearly losing his momentum and running the risk of falling on Rich, but he caught himself in time.

Richie looked at him in surprise and blinked. Realization dawning in his eyes. "Oh shit, you're right!“

"I'm _always_ right, trashmouth. Remember, it was that fucking year when you weren't allowed to go out of the house for _a week_ because you were sick, but you refused to tell anyone why. So we just chatted over our walkie talkies and I talked you through the game."

Gradually Eddie released the tension in his arm he had used to sit upright and slid down to the floor, next to Rich.

"I remember that. You just radioed me and bullied me into playing," Riche started to grin as the memory came back to him.

"I didn't fucking bully you! You begged me to help you."

"What a stupid fucking long week that was."

"Yeah and it took me nearly all of it to get you to tell me why you were sick," Eddie continued. His heart picking up a pace as he felt his and Richie's shoulder touching.

Despite his resolution to be more brave, getting closer to Rich and talk about the incident in the car felt nearly impossible. But watching Richie up close he saw so much of that young, idiotic but carefree boy buried in that adult face. Somewhere beneath the wrinkles, beard stubble and hardened features.

Eddie swallowed.

Richie scoffed. "Pink eye isn't hardly a sexy and manly illness. I couldn't risk you fucking hypochondriac spreading the word and ruining my chances with the chicks."

"Your chances were next to zero. They couldn't have gone any lower. If anything, pink eye would at least have given you something to talk about. So really no reason to have kept me out like that," Eddie chided.

Suddenly Richie looked away and fuddled with his empty glass.

"It wouldn't just have kept the girls off," Richie muttered under his breath. The reflection on his glasses hiding his eyes.

"What?" Eddie asked. His heart was pounding in his ears, he nearly didn't hear Richie at all.

"I just _said_ ," Richie repeated louder, trying to sound sober. "It wouldn't just have kept the girls off. You stupid fucking worry wart would have deserted me the instant you knew I had pink eye. Like, like claiming that the infection could be transmitted via radio. Would've been pretty fucking lonely then."

Eddie's head spun. Had Richie really feared that he would have abandoned him?

"You wanker," Eddie said quietly. "I'm reasonable, not superstitious! I mean, yes, pink eye is highly infectious. You'd just have to be in the same room with an infected person and only one droplet of– I _mean_ , I'd still hung out with you over the walkie talkie if I had known. I'd never would've left you to rot in your room alone. You really could've told me."

Richie turned around. His eyes pretty heavily lidded because of the alcohol. But there was something more to his face. Something desperate and ... sad.

"Really?"

"Sure, dude! There's nothing in– in the world you can't tell me. Not then. Not now," Eddie reassured Rich. His voice dropping an octave. His face close to the other men's. If he just knew. If he just knew that what Richie had said in the back of the car was true, he wouldn't have hesitated. Now he was just plain, old, _fragile_ Eddie Kaspbrak. Keeping out of trouble, keeping a safe distance as not to get hurt.

A smile flickered over Richie's face, a little relieved. "Cool."

"Yeah, thanks for noticing now, dipshit."

Richie chuckled. "Aw shit, man. I'm, I'm really pretty drunk." He pulled his hand over his face.

"I noticed that."

"Can, can I just ... put my head here for a second?" Richie asked and immediately let his head sink on Eddie's shoulder. His eyes were closed behind the dark rimmed glasses, making his face appear paler than it was.

"Sure," Eddie breathed.

With a sigh, Richie's weight settled more heavily against Eddie.

For some time they jut lay in silence. Eddie looked down onto Richie's mop of disheveled hair and smiled, as he remembered how often he had dreamed about running his fingers through it when he was young. Even now he didn't dare.

Outside the moon sunk lower, time slowly passing by.

A sudden snore roused Eddie from his reverie. Richie had fallen asleep. Eddie wasn't sure why Richie seemed so off the past days and why he drank so much. He couldn't get to the bottom of it. So he at least could make sure that Richie slept well.

Gingerly he brushed his index and middle finger along Richies cheek underneath his glasses.

"Rich," he murmured. "Rich, wake up. You can't sleep on me. You'll hurt your back, stupid."

Richie's eyes flew wide and he shot up in an instant.

"What– What the fuck, dude?! What're you doing?! Don't touch me!" His face was panic stricken and angry.

Eddie flinched. "What?! I didn't do anything, I just–"

Richie suddenly blanched and was sick all over his shirt.

"Shit, Richie!"

"Aw, fuck, aw shit, goddammit," Richie mumbled, his head in his hands, pushing the glasses off his face. "Shit. I'm really sick."

"That'd obvious, dickhead," Eddie swallowed his disgust, feeling sorry for Richie, and made a grab for his arm. "C'mere, let's get you up and out off–"

"I said don't fucking touch me, dude! What're you, gay? I, I can take care of that myself. You're not my, my fucking wife or something. Jesus," Richie snapped and pushed Eddie's hand away.

Eddie sat thunderstruck. The remark had cut deep.

"I'm your friend, dickhead! I'm trying to help!" He yelled back and got to his feet. "What's even your fucking deal, being so touchy?!"

"I'm not goddamn touchy, you're _really_ up in my face here, dude." Richie staggered to his feet, the front of his shirt soggy and smelly. "I'm off to bed."

Gritting his teeth, Eddie shot back, "You better wash that before going to bed!"

***

Nauseous and fuming, Richie went up the staircase and vanished in the bathroom. With an angry yank he got rid of his shirt, stumbled and hit the floor with his ass.

"Fuck!" He sobbed.

The dimly lit room swam in front of his eyes as tears welled up in them and the alcohol in his system took it's toll. Slapping his hands against his face he started sobbing, choking, tears now running free.

"No, no, no, no no. Shit!"

How could he have been so careless?! What for the sweet love of _fuck_ had made him lower his guard like that? Suddenly being together with Eddie had appeared so easy, just a step away. The face of his friend had been full of understanding and so ... inviting. But Richie couldn't. Taking this one little step towards the thing he desired the most would ruin his entire life. His fame, his reputation, the work.

As if that was something to be proud of. He didn't even write his own material.

But worst of all: People would know. They would look at him and judge him. After being pulled apart by media and the press he would become irrelevant. He couldn't live with that. Hadn't he spent all his life in showbiz to get to the point where people admired him? Finally getting the attention his parents didn't and leaving people like Henry Bowers far behind. Coming out would be the set back of the ages.

Next to that, there was still that one increment of fear. Of impending doom that had settled into the back of his mind like cancer. Put there by the all encompassing deadlights, that had lifted him up and _shown_ him.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?!" Richie choked.

With a determined push he got up from the floor, swayed and grabbed the sink for support. In the mirror was the reflection of a wasted man. His skin was sallow, his chin stained with vomit and dark rings hung under his eyes.

With trembling fingers he opened the cupboard and choose one of the many prescription bottles. He shook an unreasonable amount of pills into one hand and swallowed them.

As if this wasn't enough, there were still the night terrors. Every night he dreamt about that fucking clown. IT's deadlights. About Eddie being killed. He couldn't handle the dark, let alone the sleep without some barbiturate or other. That in turn really was a killer for his stomach, making it harder to drink the alcohol he sometimes needed to get going. On the other hand, that might do his liver some good.

With feeble hands he washed his face and most of his chest before he slouched back to his bedroom. The huge space mocked him with the absence of a lover and the bed with the lack of the action it had been promised. When Richie got the room furnished, he told the delivery guy that the large bed was imperative, where else should he put all the girls, right? Right.

The one or two occasional, sad handjobs he performed on himself didn't really live up to that promise.

He really was a loser. Too terrified to even pay the next best male sex worker to just … get it done. Relieve some tension. But the paranoia of being found out was too huge. Every hint of the so poetically called homosexual conduct could be used as leverage and blackmail. Also Richie didn't really get it up with strangers. He was romantic like that.

With a sigh, closing his already heavy eyes, he sank into the cushions and let the phenobarbital get to work.

***

Eddie held on for dear life as Richie took the corner of the street as if he were Lewis fucking Hamilton.

"The fuck, man?! Do you want to kill us?" Eddie snapped.

"Don't worry your pretty head, Eds! You gotta drive like this, otherwise the other cars won't respect you. Welcome to the jungle, baby," Richie replied, floored the pedal and shot past a bus trying to park. On the right side.

Clenching his teeth, Eddie just watched as they cut through the Beverly Hills traffic like a hot knife through butter.

Yesterday had been an absolute trainwreck. After Richie had lashed out like that, Eddie hadn't been sure if staying on was a good idea. Maybe Richie's confession had only been a trick of Eddie's dying body. Something to comfort him while crossing over to the other side.

But he hadn't died, so Eddie wouldn't give up just now. Something was eating at Richie and he would find out. After all he knew his way around medication and Richie's favourite breakfast of tranquilizers, coffee and whiskey weren't made for the long run. Unless you aimed for cardiac arrest at some point in the near future.

When Eddie had gotten up early again this morning, Richie was already out and about. His pallor still showing the excess of alcohol and his eyes the shame of yesterday's evening.

"Morning, Eds my man," Richie had greeted him, his usually quite endearing smile with his lopsided teeth looking a little strained.

"Morning, Richie."

"Look here, Eds–"

"It's fucking Eddie!" Eddie had snapped, trying to cover his own nervousness.

"Yeah, sure sure, got that! Just wanted to say: I'm sorry, okay?" Richie had looked like remorse personified: Shoulders slouched forward, avoiding eye contact and his fidgety hands putting every helicopter to shame. "I really don't know what came over me yesterday. I … I really appreciate you being here and … I just wondered if you'd like to tag along today. I could show you around the set to make up for yesterday?"

Eddie had blinked in disbelieve. Yesterday Richie had been ready to shut him out and now he invited him along? "You know that I'm not some easily impressed 16-year-old girl, in love with some hot celebrity – not that you're a hot celebrity, you're just awful – that a visit to 'the set' will make up for your dickass behavior?"

"Invite you to lunch, afterwards? My treat," Richie had offered. "Come on Eds, I'm really at the end of my tether here, I'm awful at apologies. You know that."

"Oh, you bet I do. Ok, alright, fine. But I'll pick the restaurant," Eddie had agreed reluctantly. He knew this was as good as it was gonna get.

"Great! Then lets go, I'll drive."

"You're not going to fucking drive, Richie! You're still drunk!"

"Oh, it'll be fine. And anyways, it's not like you could drive the Jeep. It's too big for you."

"Too big for me? I'm fucking 5'9, Richie! I'm a grown man. I'm a grown ass man!"

The swerve of the next curve pushed Eddie even deeper into the seat that he doubted he would still be 5'9 when they arrived at the studio.

But the moment they did arrive in the huge compound Eddie hadn't the ghost of a chance to form another coherent sentence. After they passed the security gate to the studios they were already caught up in the hubbub of the film industry.

Richie slipped from the jeep into the Californian sunshine and a gaggle of three women and two men came crushing in. Someone pushed a coffee cup into his right hand, his left hand suddenly held a script while the other three talked to Richie at the same time, canceling each other out. Words like 'screen test', 'a new script' and 'the really hot co-star' flew around like mosquitoes on a hot summer's night. Eddie tried to dodge them as best as he could.

Being ignored by the film people, Eddie just huffed and tagged along, his feet scuffing against the black tar ground, riddled with markings for trucks, trailers and whatnot. Richie turned around and said something and waved both his full hands, but Eddie didn't catch what he had said. The only thing he got from Richie was his pale face and beaded forehead. It wasn't that hot today, but Richie already looked like he had run a marathon.

"Mr. Ross would like to see you on set in studio 4. Immediately, Mr. Tozier," a young woman with blond hair said, as her hand brushed from Richie's shoulder so low, that it wouldn't even be deemed handsy in a strip club anymore.

"That's sad, I'd rather spent some more time with you, darling," Richie replied with a wink and slapped her ass.

She giggled, adjusted her clipboard and waggled off to the nearest of the four metal bunkers, labeled 1. Eddie had to suppress a vicious remark that the rising bile in his throat threatened to push out.

In front of him Richie's shoulder sagged all of a sudden and he took a drink from his coffee. His hand shaking.

"C'mon, Eds. They want us … I mean, _me_. They want _me_ in 4. Bet they'll have the buffet there, too. Catch some free breakfast, wahoo."

Unsure of what to say, Eddie just followed his friend.

The inside of studio 4 was gigantic. Huge, semi-circular iron bars held the whole structure of the metal hall aloft. Everywhere people went after their work, bits of unfinished set, tools, boxes and camera equipment littered the free spaces.

Eddie was in the movies!

"Richie! Rich! The man!" An athletic, middle aged men with auburn hair and an expansive suit freed himself from a throng of people and made a bee-line for Richie.

"Clark! How's it hangin'?" Richie greeted the other man, but his face was forced as Clark thumped him on the back. He looked as if he would collapse any minute, like a puppet without strings.

"Good! Couldn't be better. We're getting a little head start on the set and I had Sarah come in early today so we could make a preview screen test, to see if the set's set up all fine."

"Oh great. Sarah, eh?"

"Yeah, she's quite excited to see you again, if you know what I mean," Clark winked and then looked at Eddie who'd hung back. "And who's that, finally a PA?"

"I'm not–"

"That's Eddie Kasprak. A childhood friend. He … he's staying over for his holidays."

Clark extended a hand, which Eddie didn't take. He had no disinfectant with him. "Nice to meet you."

"Aaawright, nice to meet you, too," Clark replied. "You never told me about him. A childhood friend? Since when did you get all sentimental–"

"Ha ha, yeah, me. All gushy and sentimental, woo-woo what a silly girl I am. Let's, let's just get this screen test over with," Richie cut Clark short and headed toward the unfinished set of a living room, which had been entered by another blonde woman. But this time it was the premium edition.

Shrugging his shoulders, Clark left, too. Not sparing Eddie another glance.

Guessing that this was his cue to just … blend in, so Eddie stood next to the buffet, watching.

On the set, Richie was suddenly joking and miming while around him people laughed and guffawed. Especially the actress – Sarah? – seemed rather enthralled by Richie. Stepping closer to him with each fling of her perfect hair.

Eddie wasn't sure what he should think. Uncertainty crept up on him. Why would Richie confess his love and then let himself be manhandled by every handsy woman that came along and even made an effort to get into her pants?

On the set Richie and Sarah were now reading out a small scene, sitting together on the couch as a bored camera man pointed the lens at them. Looking closer, there was something off about Rich. Eddie heard it in Richie's voice, too. A nearly unintelligible a tremor had crept in. A catch of breath. Also his posture had become stiff and uncomfortable, as he tried to lean away from Sarah, who nearly sat on his lap with his fly open. Still, he laughed and went on.

"Oi, Richie! Look who's here," Clark yelled.

Eddie's head shot around and he suddenly was back at Neibolt, his torso ripped open by an unnatural claw.

There, stepping out of the shadows and into the spotlight was a huge fucking clown.

Eddie had nearly stopped breathing hadn't it been for Richie's startled cry of fear.

"No!"

There was a crack and the whole set came alive. Richie jumped out of the sofa, caught his foot on the low table and fell head over heels onto the floorboards of the set, hitting his head on a pile of wooden boards.

"Richie!" That was Sarah.

Eddie's mind clicked. Richie was hurt. This time he wouldn't cower in the corner like a baby. Passing the immobile clown in his run, Eddie realized that it was just a puppet. Still, the face had been so realistically sculpted, that Eddie had to suppress a shudder.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck!" Richie yelled as blood dripped from his forehead.

"Richie-baby! You're hurt, my darling!" Sarah wailed and made to cup Richie's face.

" _Don't_ fucking touch me you stupid– bitch!" Richie babbled. "Fuck, let me– let me get … Just make some fucking room! Stop crowding me!"

Eddie pushed the retreating people out of his way and knelt next to Richie, grabbing his face without any warning.

"Rich!"

Richie's wild eyes settled on him. "Eds!"

"It's alright, Richie. It was just a fucking puppet," Eddie explained and began dabbing at the blood from Richie's cut with his thumb, so it wouldn't run into the other men's eyes. All diseases that were transmittable by blood forgotten.

"Fuck," Richie gasped breathlessly. "I just, I saw– The lights were so bright … I have to get out of here."

"Richie! What the hell happened?!" Clark wanted to know as he came up. "That's just the stupid dummy for the intro shot next week. Remember? We're doing the versions with you being chased by the clowns."

"I don't like that scene," Richie mumbled.

"Yeah well, but the audience will like it! What could be more poetic than a comedian battling with a clown."

"I don't like that fucking scene!" Richie yelled and got up. "Get rid of it!"

With that he stomped out of a completely silent studio, all eyes on the celebrity throwing a tantrum. Eddie ran after him.

At the car Riche just collapsed to the ground. "Shit!"

"Richie, please, calm–" Eddie started but saw that Richie had dissolved into tears. With his back against the huge SUV, knees pulled to his face he gave way to the tears.

Gingerly, Eddie knelt down next to the crying man and brushed his hand, the dried blood crusting his fingers, through the sweat slickend hair.

"Hey Rich. It's me, dude."

"I– I can fucking tell that. Didn't hit my head that hard."

"Right," Eddie replied and made Richie raise his face, carefully running his hand from his hair down along his face. "We need to get you to a doctor. That cut looks bad."

"Fuck that doctor, dude. Just get me home, will ya? I'll, I'll let you drive the Jeep," Richie said, his voice strained. He looked up at Eddie, his face still in his hand.

Eddie's heart skipped a beat. Richie looked at him with so much vulnerability in his eyes that it hurt. That clown had really set him off and shaken him to the core. Resisting the urge to just kiss him, Eddie drew his hand away and patted his knee instead.

"Alright. Get up," With that he helped Richie back on his feet and into the car.

***

The drive back was a silent affair. Richie slumped in the passenger seat, watching the passing buildings and cars bathed in the midday sun. Outside the world went on about it's own business as if nothing had happened. But Eddie knew how rattled, how insecure Richie must feel right now. That stupid, fucking clown dummy had him reeling, too, for a second. But Richie was over the edge.

When they went back inside the mansion, Eddie tried to defuse the tension that hung about them like a thunderstorm to break.

"Are you vaccinated for tetanus?" He asked as he maneuvered Richie to the couch because he still seemed dizzy from the hit. "You know how _deadly_ that shit is right? I'll call your doctor and check right away, what's his number? Or even better, I'll call an ambulance, you're rich, you can afford it. Rich. Haha, see my little pun there? I'm better at comedy than you are. Anyways where's the–"

Eddie turned around to leave but Richie got hold of his hand.

"I'm … fine. Just … you patch me up?"

Thunderstruck, Eddie beheld Richie's exhausted form on the couch, looking like Wile E. Coyote run over by a truck and flattened to a pancake. In his palm Richie's hand was warm and sweaty. His system was getting rid of the early morning alcohol. And the tranquilizers, Eddie bet. If he could just … hug, that man. Instead his hand tightened by reflex.

"Patch you up?! You look like a fucking shambles! A pizza under a lawnmower! I'm not a surgeon!" Was all that escaped his mouth. So much for caring sensitivity.

"Then I'll just bleed to death on this couch. Thanks for nothing, bro."

"You will _not_ bleed on that couch."

"It's my fucking couch. I'll bleed all over it if I want."

"Not on my watch! Lay down and I'll get the first aid kit." Richie agreed exasperated. "Dickface."

After having retrieved the first aid kit, Eddie sat next to Riche, who had followed his orders, laid down and closed his eyes. Exhaustion and fright clinging to the wrinkles of his eyes and mouth.

Slowly he set to work. Wash, clean and dress. All the while Eddie's blood crusted hands looked oddly out of place. His accelerated pulse made his vision dance.

"Ouch!" Richie gasped.

"Shut it. You wanted this."

"I didn't want you to torture me! I'd enough of that already …" his voice drifted off.

Slowly, Eddie replied, "Yeah, that fucking clown got to me, too."

"The clown?" A desperate laugh escaped Richie's lips. "I meant your driving. You drove like a fucking granny! Told you, that car was too huge for you."

Slapping a plaster on the cut way harder than necessary, Eddie snapped, "Just because I had a passenger bleeding to death next to me!"

"Ouch!" Richie winced. After a moment of watching Eddie re-pack the kit, he got hold of the other man's hand. "I know. I'm … I'm sorry, Eds. You're right, that fucking clown really fucking got me."

Eddie looked back at Richie. This time, his closeness didn't disturb the other man so much. In fact Richie was the one initiating the contact. It was now or never, Eddie had to take the first step, if Richie wouldn't.

Turning his hand in Richie's grip, he intertwined their fingers and held fast.

"That's alright." Nodding at their hands he added, " _That's_ alright. I'm your friend, Rich, remember? You can really talk to me."

Richie was silent for a moment before tears welled up in his eyes and he had to push his free hand under his glasses to wipe them away.

"I … fuck," he whispered.

"That's alright, let it out," Eddie murmured.

"It's just … it's just that after Derry I feel so on edge. Like, I can't come down anymore because shit's always lurking around the corner? Shit, I even can't sleep without a light on. How pathetic is that?"

Eddie tightened his grip. "I know. I … feel the same. Since Derry it always feels like life is about to end every second now. Out of nowhere. I mean, worse than before. Viruses and bacteria can be fought but … fear? No way."

Suddenly Richie looked up, the glasses on his face a little askew. His face was torn with emotions. As if he was battling what to say.

"Eds … I … I was so afraid of loosing you that day. You nearly died saving me. Every, every fucking night I see you. See you getting ripped open and …" Richie's voice trembled with fear, new tears streamed down his face. "I'm so glad you're back."

"Rich," Eddie breathed and couldn't hold back anymore. Letting go of the other man's hand he bent down and drew him into a hug. At first he felt Richie stiffen up before hugging back. Desperate fingers dug into Eddie's shirt as he held his friend close.

For a moment it was just them. The world and its horrors had forgotten about them and they were at peace. Eddie's heart nearly jumped out of his chest as he held the crying man close. They were still the two pieces of a puzzle that fit together, Eddie just had to show Richie how.

Slowly, Richie let go and sat up. Eddie gave him space.

"Whew, that sure was awkward," Richie cleared his throat. "Me, getting all emotional."

"Yes well, it's good to know that there are still _some_ emotions in your empty husk of a body," Eddie replied and felt a laugh bubble up. Still, he tried to frown at Richie, who grinned back.

"Sure there are! But I register a severe absence of nutritious substances in my system. Maybe we should look at that instead of my crippled but still highly interesting emotional capabilities?" Richie offered.

"Oh right," Eddie agreed and got up and made for the kitchen.

"You can cook?"

Eddie halted dead in his tracks. "Shit."

Richie laughed and for the first time today he sounded happy. "Let's just order in. As I said, my treat."

Grinning back, Eddie said, "Great, I hope you have your credit card ready. What do you want, that Mexican stuff? Do they do take out?"

"I thought you didn't like that?"

Being caught out, Eddie lied, "What? Nooo, that was … fine."

"I know for a _fact_ that you didn't like it Eds. It's cool,"

"What– how?" Eddie was confused.

"By the amount of times you went into the bathroom that night. Keeping me up with. Not. Shitting. At all!" Richie threw his hand wides in mock exasperation and laughed.

"Fuck you, dickweed!"

In the end they had ordered from a new vegan place down in the city's center, since Richie had been adamant about returning the favor. Even if it meant to eat tasteless food replicas packed in brown carton boxes in quite futuristic shapes – what the heck was an octagon? An alliance of cephalopods? –with green patterns of cows and bunnies happy about not being slaughtered.

"Can we at least put on some music, so that I can enjoy my food a little bit?" Richie asked as he unpacked the delivery box onto the living room table.

Walking over to the huge shelves on the walls Eddie shot back, "You insisted on paying me back, so now shut up and–" Eddie stopped. "Do you only have vinyl?!"

"Yeah, love them. Think they're cool."

"You do know that they invented CDs back when we were kids, right?" Eddie traced his fingers along the backs of the lovely maintained LP covers.

"Well, vinyl has by far the better sound, you cretin. But I 'spect your delicate ears can't have Rock 'n' Roll playing. You might get acute hearing loss."

"Fuck you, too. So let's see," Eddie murmured and began pulling out records. "Boston."

"'More than a feeling'! Amazing track."

"Kansas."

"'Carry on my Wayward Son'. Can't go wrong with that."

"John … Denver?"

"Hey! 'Country Roads' is a national treasure."

"And … Asia?!"

"Heaaat of the momeee–"

"Do you only have musicians named after locations?!"

"There's Meat Loaf."

"He's named after a fucking dish!"

In the end they had settled on Meat Loaf. One more absent meat dish wouldn't look out of place in that menu.


	5. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working on the TV show has Richie working on his limit. And it doesn't help much that the tension between him and Eddie seem to be running high.

Richie threw away the phone as if it was something vicious. It hit the wall with a clack and fell to the floor in the middle of a sunbeam. Outside the sun was sinking lower and the palm trees in his garden threw dappled shadows across his office.

He had been up there for hours already. Clark had wanted to speak about Richie's diva move two weeks prior.

Richie had tried to explain his phobia. As best as he could anyways because how do you tell someone about the horribly traumatic event of a giant monster clown nearly killing you and your childhood friends – whom you forgot you had – without sounding mental?

The answer to that was: You didn't.

In the end Clark didn't care about Richie's made up childhood story and he didn't care how many rights and credits and credentials Richie had on the series production; the clown scene was a go.

"Shit, fucking shit, shit, shit, fuck," Richie cursed and slapped his face with both his hands.

The production of the series was getting more and more oppressing. First, the horrible writing, second the all too handy co-star trying to get into his pants and up the career ladder and third: The fucking clowns.

Richie didn't know how he could go on handling that shit. Sure, there where always tranquilizers and alcohol, but if his last break down on set was anything to go by, that wouldn't work much longer. The medication actually had helped not loosing his shit entirely, but they also made him dizzy and funnily enough: anxious. In random intervals his heart would just pick up a pace and he would break out in sweat, hands shaking. The alcohol helped with that, but it also ate away at his gut. Every time he and Eddie had take out or gone to a restaurant, he felt sick. By now his stomach lining appeared to be raw and bloody and every piece of food just sat there, festering, making him sick.

Richie groaned as his mind turned on Eddie. The slim, pale face with the clean cut scar across his cheek appeared in front of his mind's eye.

He was another problem.

Well, actually he wasn't. Hadn't Richie been such a goddamn loser he would already lounge in Eddie's caring arms, drinking a Dr Pepper and watching a movie. Being happy. Having a healthy life and a lover.

A lover. Richie couldn't hold back the sad chuckle that escaped his lips as he remembered Eddie's cast from all that years ago. The girl from the apothecary had written 'Loser' on it. All caps. Eddie, delicate Eddie, had made 'Lover' out of it. No one had said anything.

That slim frail boy had grown into an anxious, hypochondriac adult. But in Derry he seemed to have changed. Underneath all of Eddie's OCD-like behavior appeared to be a layer of steel. Everything he said was backed up with more vehemence and backbone than ever before. Despite fretting about viruses and bacteria, he didn't seem to be afraid of the world.

Not the 'world' in like people, cars, hospitals or public toilets. More in the way of he didn't care about what people saw in him anymore. Eddie Kaspbrak had come forward and taken his place in this goddamn motherfucker of a world.

The way Richie didn't. After Derry he still cowered in that ill fitting hetero-comedian box he had made for himself. Not daring to step out.

"Hey."

The sudden voice made Richie reel around in his ridiculously green swivel chair.

"Oh, hey Eds."

"Don't–" Eddie began, his arm raised for one of his typical chops, but then stopped with a sigh. "You alright? I heard you yell."

"Oh no, I'm fine. That was my happy yell, if you couldn't tell," Richie replied with venom in his voice he regretted immediately. The cut on his forehead itched.

"Alright, fine," Eddie said and held up his hands in defeat. "But you dropped your phone."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Richie murmured and went to pick it up. "What can I get you for, Eds? Why're you up here?" Richie's inner child made him lash out and push Eddie away. He couldn't deal with him right now.

"Just what I said, I was remote working downstairs and I heard you yell and wanted to check in on you," Eddie shot back exasperated. Then he added more softly, "It's your TV show, isn't it?"

Richie wanted to cut Eddie off. Stop his prying. But when he looked into the other man's face he stopped. Concern knitted his thick eyebrows together and Richie remembered the day on set, when Eddie got him back home, patched him up and told him, that they were friends. He could confide in him.

With a sigh, Richie gave in. He desperately needed to talk to someone, that would cheer him up. Have his back. Eddie had more than proven that he was that friend. Richie just needed the guts to reach out. "Yeah it was. Clark's not getting rid of that fucking clown scene."

"That sucks," Eddie agreed. "And all your being a celebrity – as you keep reminding me you are – doesn't help? Can't you just make him?"

"I tried that for three hours. Didn't work."

"Can't you just walk out on them, then?"

"Walk out?" Richie exclaimed. His temper rising. What did Eddie think Richie did for a living? "I can't walk out on that deal, it'll cost me thousands!"

"Yeah but! It also costs you your sanity. The rest of what's left of it, anyway," Eddie cut in. His voice oddly strained.

"Just because I work in show business doesn't mean that the film offers come flying around the corner everyday, dude," Richie explained. "That fucking show is my ticket out of stand up comedy and into the movies. Everyone has a hard day at work. I'll just get me some Xanax and all will be peachy."

Something in Eddie snapped. His eyes flew wide and suddenly he was all up in Richie's face. His finger stabbing his chest.

"Are you serious, you fucking moron?! You're already living of tranquilizers, alcohol and cigarettes for the better part of your diet. If anything, _that's_ your ticket out of stand up. Into your grave!"

Irritated, Richie slapped the hand away.

"So, why do you suddenly care about overdosing meds, Eddie?! You basically lived off that shit back in the day."

"Fuck you!" Eddie shot back. Hurt clearly showing in his pale face. "You know very well why I did it. My mom … made me. She _bullied_ me into it. I … fuck, I know that now! That's why I divorced Myra. I'm living my own life now. That's what I learned in Derry."

Not being able to stand Eddie's sad eyes, being reminded, that he was the cause of it, Richie pushed past him. "And I'm glad for you, Eds. Just let me live my own fucking live, willya?"

"But you're not!"

The determination in Eddie's voice cut right to Richie's heart and he held dead in his tracks. Hearing the other man's laboured breath, Richie gradually turned around. His pulse thundering in his ears.

"What?"

"You're … you're not living your own life, are you?" Eddie asked, his speech breathless. His hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The sun outside had nearly vanished. Now the whole room was cast in a dusky lilac hue.

Dread settled in Richie's gut like hot, liquid lead, filling and suffocating him.

"I don't know what you're–" Richie began.

"Oh no, you do! You're not living your own life. You’re living the life of a persona you created to hide behind."

"I don't–"

"I heard you back in the car."

The earth that had been lumbering in its solitary course through the universe came to a sudden halt. The floor underneath Richie's feet reeled sideways and his gut heaved.

" _What?!_ "

Eddie buckled down, his feet planted firmly on the ground, his shoulders squared.

"I heard your confession in the back of the car when you saved me," Eddie whispered. His dark, liquid eyes full of fear. Full of hope. "I love you, too, Rich."

And that was enough. The fear of loosing everything he had came rushing in on Richie, crowding him and tightening his chest. One more step and he would be done for.

"The _fuck_ you do!" Richie yelled. Trying to come off strong but he was loosing it. His grip on sanity, on everything. His hands trembled and his legs were about to give out as each and every nerve in them died. "You heard nothing! You were fucking dying, asshole!"

"Come off it, you motherfucking moron!" Eddie yelled back. "It's alright. I told you it's alright! I'm your friend–"

"I don't know what you think you're doing here, Eddie. But this is my fucking house. My life. And I sure as hell don't need you to run it for me. I ain't no fucking fag."

"Don't be ridiculous, asswipe! I heard you. I _see_ you," Eddie cut in, his face now a bright red. But he continued with a softer tone. "Listen Richie. I see you. Every day now for the past six weeks. You're not happy. You're trying to fit in a hole that hasn't remotely your shape. You, you cling to that stupid TV show production even though you told me you hated the writing, that it didn't tell a story you would tell. You keep yourself going with tranquilizers and alcohol so you don't have to face the truth–"

"There is no fucking truth, Eddie! Shut it! I really mean it, shut it," Richie heard himself say these words but they made no sense to him. He was standing behind a glass wall, watching his body speak, unable to make out the words. "I'm … I'm heading out. Just grab your shit and go. I, I don't want to see you again, Eddie."

Propelled by an unseen force, Richie turned around and left the room. Eddie's expression burnt into his mind like a cursed afterimage. Richie had never seen desperation showing so sharply in anybodies face. Even when Eddie had laid in his lap, bleeding out, he had tried to smile at Richie. The memory cut deep into his heart.

***

It had been real. Hadn't it?

Eddie stood in the middle of a trash heap that was Richie's office. Around him the shadows crept in as the sun had finally died and the room grew cold.

His heart pounded in what felt like an empty chest. He had told Richie everything and lost it all.

"Fuck!" Eddie screamed and kicked the desk hard. The paper trash and towers quivered, gave in and hit the floor with a woosh.

Trembling, Eddie fought the tears welling up in his eyes but he couldn't. Richie had shut him out and now he didn't know what to do. Eddie knew that it had been Richie's voice in the back of the car. Everything in that moment had burned itself into Eddie's mind; The pain, the smell, the sounds. His fear. The voice.

Why wouldn't Richie admit it? Didn't he mean the words he had said that day? Or was he simply afraid? Afraid like Eddie had been. Being told all your life that you were delicate and weak crippled you. Every ounce of courage and self-esteem had been nipped in the bud. Until that day underground Neibolt House. Richie had built him up, reminded him that he wasn't delicate at all, that he had slain monsters before. And it had worked. Richie had made Eddie believe in himself.

Pawing a trembling hand through his face, Eddie got rid of the tears streaming down his cheeks.

Why wouldn't Richie let Eddie built him up? Did Richie really think that being a comedian was all he had? That he couldn't have both if he just tried?

"Fucker." Eddie sobbed and sank to his knees as his legs gave way.

For sometime Eddie just sat there. Head bowed, shoulders hunched and feeling forlorn. A grown ass man crying because of a fight with his friend. A friend he had lost after reconnecting with him after 27 years of oblivion. New tears sprung to his eyes and dripped down on the scattered notes.

Absentmindedly Eddie poked at the tear-stained papers, when a string of words caught his eye. Then the whole passage.

_Some guys say it's hard to stay in the closet. All this time you have to wear a mask, pretend that you're heterosexual. But that's easy, isn't it? You just go: Women shouldn't have the right to vote, I like football and brushing my teeth is gay! The hard part is, that you actually have to pretend that you like … pussy! Ew! I know right? Not even straight folk like cats! But I tell you this, I am the worst. Gay. Ever. I don't like Madonna, going antiquing and I am not fond of that hot Brazilian football player. You know, the one with fade and the tattoos? Not at all fond. Not that fond. Anyways!_

Eddie stared in disbelief at the page, when an unwanted chuckle escaped his throat. He picked up another page with furiously scrawling handwriting and a lot of scratched out passages. He read as best as he could:

_But you know what the most frustrating part of being the 'worst gay' in the closet is? I was so far under the fucking gaydar, not even the other gays recognized me! You know at parties when to test the liberal waters people would throw hints like 'wink wink I'm gay' and rainbow confetti, other openly gay men just looked at me and went 'Jeeze Louise, that straight guy is having a stroke!'. I was so deep in the fucking closet I was in fucking Narnia!_

Eddie couldn't believe it. All of the pages had strings of consciousness parts written out about being gay. Richie had tried to come to terms with who he was. He wanted to be out there, talking about his experiences. But something held him back. And Eddie just knew what that was.

It was fear. A thing that had Eddie shackled down for the most part of his young and later adult life. But killing IT had changed that. Richie had changed that. And now it was Eddie's part to help his friend.

Gathering the pieces of paper carefully in his hands, Eddie went downstairs. He was damned if he gave up now.

***

Richie had no clue where he was.

Alcohol buzzed in his veins, making his vision dance and his head swim. His heart pumped with an erratic beat after being subjected to some phenobarbital washed down with vodka. Everything inside and out was spinning out of control and blurred into one big carpet of lights, images and disconnected strands of music.

He had stormed out of the house at some point, Richie tried to remember. Eddie had found him out.

No one ever had found him out! No one knew about him what Eddie knew. What Richie stupidly had admitted to, the day his friend had been dying in his arms.

Although he hadn't. Eddie hadn't died. He had smiled at him through blood crusted lips and hung on. It had seemed that Eddie would part with this world but he had come roaring back and right into Richie's life. Standing on his doorstep with all of his fucking baggage. Waltzing in. Destroying Richie's life.

But had he? Richie's mangled brain feed him strands of conversation, images of days spent together, feelings of when they accidentally had touched. Richie had been happy.

He cried. An ugly sob racked his body and his gut heaved. In a burst of choked curses Richie was sick. He felt warm vomit seeping into the fabric of his jeans.

"Fffuck …" He mumbled and pawed at his mouth. Blinking he looked around. He was outside. Behind him he could hear the low thrum of a bass and muted house music. He was outside some fucking club or other and had managed to fight his way through the suffocating crowd after getting his fill of alcohol. The fill, he now had discharged into his lap.

With weak hands he fumbled in his wet pockets for a pack of cigarettes, got them out and after five tries lit one of them. The nicotine smoke streamed into his lungs, slightly soothing his nerves.

But were these brief moments of happiness worth destroying the rest of his life? Richie just knew when news of him being gay reached the news, he would become a fraud. No one would ever believe his sexist comedy schtick after being labelled a fag. But the again, maybe they were right to not believing, since none of it was true. All of what the public thought he was, was fake.

_You're not living your own life!_

Richie flinched at Eddie's accusation. He took another trembling pull of his cigarette. What the fuck did the spaghetti man know?! Hadn't Richie worked hard for where he was now? Numberless menial jobs on TV shows, productions and small town theater. Eating shit and getting by until his big chance being part of a sketch in a late night show. An boom. The audience loved him. Then his rise to stardom.

That was his life. He had made it.

_You're trying to fit in a hole that hasn't remotely your shape._

"Shut it!" Richie yelled. The few scattered people on the parking lot, taking a break from the club, edged away.

Just because his life wasn't as perfect as Mr. Right's who apparently was now out and proud and the new face of the gay agenda, didn't mean that it was worthless.

"Right," Richie mumbled, got a hold of the nearest wing mirror, broke it off while getting up, and stumbled to his car. The big blurry shape at the end of the lot. He guessed.

Eddie had better packed, because if not, Richie was going to give him a piece of mind.

***

The ride home was a hazy affair. His vision had consisted of orange lit streets, shimmering neon signs turning into comets with sparkling tails and slab-dash shadows cutting through it all. Richie dimly recalled having passed some red lights and even swerving a little too often to the left side of the road, but other than that he had come home fine.

In a haze he crashed the car's door shut, hit the lock button on his key and threw it away into the palm trees. Swaying up the concrete driveway, Richie nearly ended up in one of the better maintained and now moonlit flower beds.

At the front door he fumbled for a minute with his second set of keys, opened the door and fell in with a crash.

Purple darkness filled the hallway except for one shiny ray of warm, golden light coming from the living room. As was the voice.

"Richie?!"

Stumbling upwards, Richie dashed into the illuminated living room – his timer lamps never failing him – and ran into Eddie. With a grunt and a shove he sent the other man reeling backwards, sending the papers he had held in his hand scattering to the ground.

"You asshole," Richie yelled, spittle dripping from his booze numb lips.

Richie righted himself and immediately shot back with vehemence, "You're drunk, idiot! How did you get home?"

And Richie had enough. The fear of hiding everyday of his life had simmered long enough in him. It had become dark tar that clung to his very core. Now it burst out, ripping everything apart.

"Shut up! Stop fucking mothering me, Eddie!"

"I'm not! I'm just concer–"

"You're nothing! You just got it stuck into your fucking brain, that I said something I didn't!" Richie bellowed and swung his arms wide with a viscous cut. His hands trembled as he gestured wildly in front of his chest, where his heart beat itself to pieces. "I don't fucking love you. You just can't come waltzing into. My. Fucking. Life. And tell me who I am!"

Eddie's eyes were wide with horror. His whole posture was turned in on itself, not a single strand of his former bravery showing.

"I didn't mean to," he whispered.

"Yeah, you didn't mean shit!" Richie shot back. At this moment he could only scream. Tears pressed behind his eyes and mad his throat sore. He couldn't deal with it. Why did Eddie insist on destroying their friendship like that? Hadn't he sacrificed his childhood by not telling him. By not ruining their friendship with his love for him? Why would Eddie persist on pushing him like that. "All this time, every day when we were young you said you were dying with some fucking disease or other. Last month in Derry? That shit was fucking real! I thought you were a goner. And this is how you repay me for saving you? Now I wish I had left you in that fucking cave – You son of a bitch!"

The large, strangely tidy room was completely silent. In front of him, Richie watched Eddie fall apart. Tears slipped out of his unbelieving eyes.

Richie twisted his mouth and clenched his hands so hard his knuckled cracked and tendons jumped over cartilage. Everything, every ounce of pain was welcome to drown his inner despair, the feeling of loss. What had he done? Eddie had been the only person who had made an effort to get to know him and get behind his funny comedian brick wall.

"You motherfucking piece of shit!" Eddie screamed, his voice breaking. Suddenly he was aflame with anger and Richie had to step back. "How dare you, Richie Tozier?! I nearly got ripped in half because I was trying to safe you! Seeing you again after 27 years of oblivion I remembered how much I fucking loved you when we were kids. And finally there was a chance to tell you. A point in my life to take the risk and come out and _be_ with you. If it weren't for that fucking clown. I–" Eddie choked with more tears running down his cheeks.

Richie's heart beat even faster and his gut clenched with the effort. Around him the room began to spin as a sudden heatwave crushed over him. He had ruined everything.

"I came back because of you," Eddie whimpered. "I heard your fucking voice as clear as a bell, you idiot. What're you so afraid of? A giant fucking space monster tried to kill us and you've bullied it to death! How much worse can it get in life?"

All the sense, body control and sanity that had held Richie Tozier together up until now upped and left.

He crashed to his knees.

"Shit, shit, shit! shit!" The words now bubbled freely from his unresisting lip as he dissolved into unintelligible moans and sobs. Everything around him drew back and out of touch. He was all alone.

What was there to say now? He was a fucking loser. A coward. He couldn't even admit his own truth to his best friend. The alcohol haze filled his head near bursting and he swayed back and forth. His stained jeans clinging to his legs.

"I'm a fucking shitload of trash. Fuck!" Richie cried. "I, I ruined it. My fucking life. Always hiding … always being someone else and now … and now you, Eddie. I'm sorry."

He slammed his fists against his head and curled himself into a ball, cowering on the floor as regret, fear and nausea crashed over him. Grinding him down to his sad and lonely core.

For an instant, time stop and Richie was all caught in his own private hell. Stifling and fear and despair.

But then a gentle touch to the nape of his neck brought him spinning around. Vertigo made him sick but he caught himself and looked into Eddie's drawn face. The dark brows pulled deep over his eyes and the mouth a hard, pale line. The stubble on his chin showed clearly through his nearly translucent skin. He hurt, too.

"I–" Richie gagged but no more words came, he shivered too much for his clenched jaw to work.

In the half light, Eddie closed his eyes and bowed his head, face vanishing in the shadows. Then he looked up and forgiveness softened his features.

"I told you, Rich, it's alright."

Very tenderly he put his one hand back on Richie's neck while the other just as carefully loosened Richie's grip on his head. With a tug, he pulled Richie into a heartfelt embrace.

Richie couldn't compute anymore, he just pressed his tear and vomit stained face into Eddie's chest and let it all out.

Wave after wave of tears and sobs racked his body, as past regrets, old fears, new fears and utter desperation flushed his body. His arms and legs were numb, all energy had been spent and only Eddie holding him kept him from falling apart entirely.

Eddie started rocking him.

"Rich," he soothed. "It's alright. I'm here. I won't go. Promise."

"Sosorry …" Richie slurred.

"Shh, it's fine. It's fine now. We've got all the time in the world …"

Richie wanted to hold on. He wanted to say something, anything to show Eddie how he felt. But his mind slipped and sunk into the fog of alcohol and drugs that had been stalking him the whole night and finally made its move. Darkness overcame him.

***

Eddie's heart had been beating fast as things had started to unravel in front of his yes.

But now it settled into a slow and steady rhythm as he rocked a trembling Richie back and forth. All the while he murmured soothings phrases over and over again, hoping they would wash over Richie like waves over disturbed sand and calm him down. Give him something to focus his wandering mind on.

Eddie had reached the end of the journey he had set for himself. But he knew that it had only just begun. And he was more than happy about that. Holding Richie like that opened something in his heart and he wanted to share it with the other man.

In his arms Richie's trembling had slowly subsided, his embrace tightened for a second and then slackened. He had fallen asleep.

A sad smile played on Eddie's lips. Happy that Richie had made the first step towards accepting himself. But there still was a long way to go for him.

For a few minutes more Eddie held the knocked out Richie in his arms until they started smarting. Then realization dawned on him.

How the fuck was se supposed to move Richie upstairs?!

Not that Eddie was weak or delicate, as he had found out the past few months. But still, lifting and bridal carrying a grown ass man from the floor up the stairs was something that seemed more than a little taxing.

_Right, the couch it is._

But not in these clothes. Now that the adrenaline had worn off and Eddie sat unmoving in the spacious living room, Richie's choices of a whole array of alcoholic beverages slowly wafted up to him. Vomit. Eddie shuddered. Still, weeks ago a fucking leper monster had vomited straight into his face and mouth! Richie just knew that he could take this little stain in a stride.

As if handling a delicate construction made out of matchstick, Eddie lowered Richie to the floor while he extracted himself from underneath him. Awkwardly he waved his hands over the sleeping man, unsure if to just cover him up for the next five minutes or if it was ok to let him lie on the cold, hard marble fucking floor?

In the end Eddie had more or less managed to push a cushion under Richie's face and patting his shoulder awkwardly before rushing up to the next floor to retrieve some change of clothes and towels.

Opening Richie's closets and cupboards made Eddie scowl. Everything was thrown in head over heels and a barrage of colors and patterns made his eyes water.

_Damn comedians._

Flicking through what were most likely shirts, Eddie got hold of an old, white shirt with a faded Thundercats print. It was his own.

Eddie had to suppress a grin. He had lost this shirt one day in summer when the Losers Club had been swimming in the quarry again. Convinced that rabid raccoons had taken it, Eddie had wandered home shirtless – again – and gotten a free ride to the doctors out of it.

"Fucking dick," Eddie cursed the other men fondly under his breath.

Downstairs Richie hadn't moved an inch and was still snoring softly. So Eddie set to work cautiously.

He rolled Richie around, removed the already askew glasses and dragged a lukewarm wet towel across the other man's stained face, more or less gently pulled the shirt off of him – thanking the drugs and liqueur for making Richie so oblivious – and set to work on the soggy jeans.

Jeans has the tendency to become very stiff when wet so Eddie spent a whole minute on undoing the button, feeling more than awkward to be bent over Richie's crotch like that. When the button gave way, Eddie pulled hard at the pant's legs and revealed another offensively patterned boxershorts in the process.

With as much decorum as possible, Eddie toweled off Richie's legs and replaced the burger boxershorts with pineapple ones. The shirt he had picked turned out to be from a long dead burger franchise, reading 'Wahoo Burger - Nice to meat you' in bright pink and violet.

Richie had only numbly responded to being manhandled like that, so Eddie figured that lifting him up the couch wouldn't hurt that much either.

Gathering all his strength, he squatted, got his arms under Richie's hollow of the knees and his shoulders an heaved him up. Staggering and cursing silently, Eddie made for the couch and dumped the other man unceremoniously on the white, fluffy cushions.

Richie moaned, rolled to his side and curled himself into a ball. Eddie smiled and now more gingerly, pulled a blanket over Rich and tucked the pillow back under his head as best as he could. With a sigh, he sat down on the comfy couch himself and watched Richie sleep with a sad but also content heart, letting his hand rest on Richie's calf.

Gradually the exhaustion of the day and the lateness of the hour made their impression on Eddie as his eyelids became heavy, fluttered and stayed shut.

Head bent backwards over the voluminous cushions, a snore escaped his lips and both men let the power of sleep mend what was possible. Waiting for the next day to come.


	6. Being together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally Eddie and Richie admit their love for each other. Still, there is something holding Richie back that is threatening to tear them apart again.

**PART III – I said your love got me higher**

Richie slowly woke from the weight pushing down on his skull making it crack. When he tried to open his eyes, his lids wouldn't budge and with a little more effort he un-sticked his lashes and horribly bright sunlight burned his eyes.

"Fffuuuaaack," he groaned nearly inaudible as he pressed his face deeper into the cushion, blocking out the light and hiding from his thoughts that had risen with him.

Slowly the events from yesterday popped up in his sleep befuddled brain and his heart picked up a pace, setting his body into wake-mode.

Gingerly, he turned his head, beheld the huge ceiling to floor windows and his green, palm tree studded garden. He was in the living room. With a jerk his head shot up fully and looked over the mountain of fluffy blanket he had hid himself under and beheld … Eddie.

He ducked down again.

"Shit."

"Why, thank you, asshole," Eddie shot back and Riche emerged once more from his cocoon, careful not to stress his sense of vertigo too much. Eddie sat at the far end of the couch, wearing a dark red, crinkled polo shirt and … some cargo shorts? Richie would have never suspected that Eddie owned such a casual and revealing piece of clothing. Despite that, his face was pale, beard stubble clearly showing and his hair only haphazardly combed back. This was Eddie's equivalent of looking wasted.

"Hey … Eds," Richie croaked, cowering behind the plush mountain. Then a thought hit him and he raised the blanket in a flash and looked down. The blanket came down again in a whoosh and Richie's face grew hot.

New clothes.

Opposite of him, Eddie's face showed the same signs and his lips formed a thin line, his hand raised in a quiet plea for silence as he looked down into his coffee mug.

"Don't … say anything."

"Only if you don't," Richie whispered back and snatched his glasses from the coffee table, to see a little more clearly. If the alcohol in his system let him, that was.

"You want a coffee? I put the machine on," Eddie offered.

Considering his acid laden stomach and last night's escapades Richie declined, "No thanks. I'm, I'm good."

A moment of silence. Then, "Really? How do you feel?"

This time Richie looked up in earnest and met Eddie's concerned face. Here, right now, was no room for jokes. Not after what they had said to each other yesterday.

"I … don't know. I mean, my body feels like shit. But it has been doing that for the past ten years I guess. My fault. Other then that … con … fused? And sorry."

Suddenly Eddie's narrow face that was so prone to judgmental expressions and fiercest of scowls turned soft.

"If you're sorry because of yesterday, don't be," He replied softly.

"But Eds I've said some horrible, horrible things! I didn't even recognize myself," Richie's voice rose in pitch.

Eddie sat his mug aside and put his hand on Richie's knee, hidden deep under the blanket. "That's because you refused to look at yourself all these years, Rich. That was you. That were your fears taking over."

Richie only grudgingly let yesterday's thoughts and emotions wash through him, how lost and helpless he had felt. How the desperation had stifled him. And what yesterday's revelations meant for his future.

Tears sprung up in his eyes and as he tried to hold them back pitiful sound broke from his throat.

"Rich," Eddie exclaimed, voice full of concern. In a second he had grabbed Richie's hands that were now fisting the blanket so hard, his knuckles showed white.

Not caring anymore, Richie flung himself at Eddie, his face buried deeply into his neck. Without a single moment's hesitation, Eddie hugged back and held him close. The pressure of the embrace seeped through him and calmed his heart. Still, he sobbed silently, hanging onto the only person that knew his truth.

"It's alright, Rich. Just let it out. I … love you," Eddie whispered and pressed his lips to Richie's head. At the touch a jolt went through Richie's whole body and as the words seeped down into his mind, he cried even harder.

"Fuck … I love you, too, Eddie. I love you! I always have! I … I– shit!" He didn't know what to say anymore. After all these years of hiding his love, of lying to himself, he had nothing more to say than that?! But maybe that was all there was and all that counted.

A smile played in Eddie's voice when he answered, "I know. I heard you say it back in Derry. That's what brought me back."

Richie sat up and looked into Eddie's liquid brown eyes, brimmed with un-cried tears. With trembling hands he put the tips of his fingers onto Eddie's rough cheeks, let them slide forward until his whole palm was flush with his face. A laugh hicupped from his chest and he smiled back at the other man through his tears.

Eddie slung his arms around Richie's neck and they kissed. Richie's world turned upside down as a sudden heatwave crashed through him. This was all he had ever dreamt of. A desire he had pushed so far down it had made him sick. But now … maybe now was time to re-open and clean old wounds and start anew.

The kiss was sloppy and needy. Their noses bumped into each other a little roughly and it would have been a lie to say that their teeth hadn't met forcefully. Next to that Richie's glasses were nowhere near his eyes anymore. But other than that, the tension in Richie's whole body he had held over the years just subsided, he melted against Eddie's soft and welcoming frame. Gently, the other man drew him close and down onto the couch.

Running his fingers through Eddie's short hair and over his scalp made the other man hum, his fingers digging hungrily into Richie's back.

Sweat sprang up on Richie's brow as he felt last night's hang over kick in. He pushed it down as best as he could, when he felt Eddie freeing his leg from under him. Richie's weight let him slide down deeper and more firmly against Eddie's straining body.

That was when reality hit them.

"Oh!" Eddie breathed as he broke the kiss.

"Sh-sh-shit! S- sorry," Richie cursed unsteadily and tried to get up in embarrassment. But his befuddled gut and sense of balanced noped out on that and he flopped down again.

"It's fine, it's fine," Eddie reassured him, his voice husky with arousal but also trying for a comforting tone.

Richie wriggled himself off and to the side of Eddie, so as not having to the feel the other man's hard on he wasn't capable of matching right now. Who would have thought the rumors to be true. Alcohol and drugs could influence one's performance in bed.

"Shit, that's even worse than what I imagined to happen the first time I kiss a guy," Richie moaned.

But Eddie only chuckled, rolled to his side and gave Richie a peck on the cheek. "It's just fine. Yesterday you looked like you emptied a whole bar by yourself _and_ topped it off with some psychotropic drugs. I wouldn't even be able to talk through that kind of hang over you must have. Least of all get a … you know."

"Be that as it may, I wanted to surprise my future boyfriend with an amazingly huge and voluptuous _dick_! You know the kind you get in them trash romance novels for women with those cheesy pictures on the cover?" Richie explained but stopped when he saw Eddie's expression. It had become serious again.

"Is that what you really want?" He asked.

And Richie caught himself before asking the obvious, unromantic counter question – What, the dick? – and took a deep breath.

"I'm … I'm terrified, Eds. I know that I'm a trash heap of a person, that I don't even have the trace of a backbone you've shown the past few weeks and … And I don't know how much good I'll be as a … as a boyfriend," he breathed the last words so that it was barely audible. "But … if you're willing to bear with me, than there'd be nothing more I would wish for in my life. You're … perfect. Always have been."

Eddie's face was the definition of surprise. His cheeks had turned red with more that lust.

"You're still the old sweet talking trashmouth, huh?" He chuckled lowly.

"Sure am," Richie grinned

"'Course I want to be your boyfriend, moron. What do you think I've been doing here for the past few weeks!"

"Hah! I knew it!" Richie exclaimed. "You were making a pass on me weren't you!"

"Shut up!" Eddie yelled back and tried to get off of the already crowded couch, but Richie got to him first.

Cursing and laughing they wrangled on the couch like in the good old days, when suddenly Richie's gut kicked in.

"Oh shit–"

"Oh no, don't you dare!"

"Oh fuck! I'm going to be sick, Eds!"

"Richie, _no_!"

***

Luckily, Richie managed to scamper to the ground floor's guest bathroom and be sick in the washbasin. Heaving and retching he hung over the porcelain, while his long shaggy hair fell down into his face.

"Jesus F. Christ," Eddie cursed casually and got one hand under the messy hair and gently brushed it back, while the other came to rest on Richie's neck with a cold towel. "How much did you exactly drink?"

"I guess … ugh … like six-ish– fuuu …ugh. Maybe like ten beers annnnnd s-some shots?" Richie stammered. "Thanks, Eds."

A spark of joy erupted in Eddie's chest and made him a little giddy. Somehow he didn't mind that nickname so much after all.

"Don't call me that, dumbass," he replied fondly.

"Yes, mom."

"Stop it!"

Having emptied himself out as best as he could, Richie tapered back to the couch, Eddie at his side with an arm around his waist.

Watching the other man flop down on the sofa, completely winded and with a waxy complexion, concern tainted his previously happy mood. Now it might just look like a hang over, but the cause was something serious.

Eddie hunkered down in front of Richie and brushed a concerned hand across the other man's brow.

"You're burning up. You should go back to bed," Eddie advised.

Cracking open one glassy eye, Richie returned grinning, "What, now? But this is the happiest day of my life, Eds."

Pressing his lips together as to stifle the beginning of a smile, Eddie coughed. "I'll let you have that 'Eds', because you're sick. Not that you deserve it, actually. Are you hungry? The last time you ate must've been yesterday's lunch. That's unhealthy. A normal human male should eat three times a day every five hours, in respect to insulin level and calorie intake. Also–"

"Got it, got it, got it," Richie chuckled and caught Eddie's hand in his. "Can we order Chinese?"

"Chinese?! That's–"

"Please?"

Looking into Richie's pleading eyes in his rugged face gave Eddie pause. He looked like a Labrador puppy. Luckily, he was allergic to dogs.

"Fine, ok. Whatever."

But who could say no to a puppy?

In the end Eddie and Richie had settled down on the huge couch, in front of them the coffee table was littered with deliciously smelling boxes. Eddie even ate his beef chow main, since he figured that to live with Richie meant to share his diet for some parts, so he needed some hardening concerning food. Especially gluten. His dish was basically gluten with an idea of beef. If gluten could have ideas. That shit was so toxic, Eddie bet it could.

Richie on the other hand huddled next to Eddie, a box of plain rice in his hand which he eyed dolefully.

"Wasn't that great an idea, huh?" Eddie asked.

Richie moaned. "Yeah."

Setting his box down, Eddie got hold of Richie's shoulder.

"You really need to take more care of yourself in the future," he tried to say with as much gentleness as he could.

Richie looked up, the dark glasses heavy in his face. Then he also set aside his food, he leaned over and crawled up into Eddie's lap.

"Fuck, you're heavy!"

"That's what you gotta deal with, when loving me," Richie mumbled and buried his face in Eddie's shirt. "I come with some baggage."

Letting go of his usual stiff attitude Eddie was prone to lap into, he leaned into the touch and held Richie tight. He could feel the other man's confusion, fear and pain as if they were his own. The jokes and the carefree attitude were still the walls of safety with which he kept the world at bay. Having to deal with his emotions was something completely new to Richie. Years of repressing were hard to unlearn in just a matter of hours.

Eddie figured to give Richie some time. So they sat silently, arm in arm, sunken in the still sparkly white couch – all thanks to Eddie's care – letting the sun go down on them.

"How can you be so strong?" Richie whispered.

Taken by surprise at the sudden and direct question, Eddie paused his idle fingers, that were running through Richie's hair.

"I …" he began and paused again. "Well, I think after Pennywise everything else appears so insignificant. I mean … when we all met again in the restaurant after 27 years my memories of you came back. And of … of how much I'd loved you. _Still_ love you! But there were those fears again, so I couldn't really say anything. And then, when we fought Pennywise and I thought he would kill you, I just thought 'Fuck it'. That was the worse that could have happened. And I got a second chance. You … you saved me. And I've sworn myself to not let anything hold me back anymore."

A moment's silence. Then Richie turned his head around and in the dying sunlight he appeared tired and beaten. It was surprising how well pain settled into Richie's expressive and oftentimes funny face. Lines of laughter were also marks of sorrow.

"Why didn't that happen to me? My magical Disney princess awakening? It's 2019 and I'm a gay dude after all."

Eddie huffed at the sad joke. "Because in your eyes you've got more to loose. You're a public person. It's like a part of you … doesn't belong to you at all. It's their's."

"Huh, yeah. And who wants a part of a forty-something old wasted gay dude? Laughable! And not even the good kind …" Richie murmured.

"That's not laughable," Eddie insisted, tightening his hold on the other man. "It's who you are. It's your story and you're going to tell it the way you want. The public can fuck off. An really, the stuff you wrote is great."

Realizing what he had done, Eddie clamped his mouth shut.

Richie sat up in a heartbeat, his eyes wide.

"You read _that_?!"

"Fuck. Yeah, yeah I did. Sorry. Back when we argued I kind of kicked your desk and the papers fell dow– and anyway! Your stupid office is a fucking mess! You can not _not_ run into things. It's not my fault I found your stupid diary writing," Eddie snapped, trying to sound offended.

Richie started to laugh. Wiping at his eyes. "Oh shit, I really forgot I had those notes knocking around there. That were some dark weeks."

Softening his tone, Eddie continued, "I really mean it, though. That's great stuff."

Looking back up, Richie gave him a sad smile. "Thank you. But … I'm not sure if I can tell that story just yet."

Seeing his insecurity and fear, Eddie got hold of Richie's face and gently ran his thumbs over the even more prominent beard stubble. Richie leaned into the touch, a tired sigh fled his lips.

"And you don't have to. Not right now anyway. And if you'll ever tell it, I'll be right here, ok?" Eddie assured him.

"Thank you," Richie whispered and let himself be drawn into a gentle, second kiss. "I think–"

"You're going to be sick again?" Eddie asked into the kiss and then drew back.

"Hmmm no," Richie replied. "You're not that bad of a kisser."

"Fuck you."

"Don't give me ideas," Richie chuckled. "No, I just think I need to lie down."

"Oh yes, sure," Eddie agreed. Then saw Richie's awkward, questing look and got hot all over. "Should … should I … Do you want me to come to bed with you?"

A timid nod.

"Yes, sure," Eddie breathed.

After some awkward maneuvering in the huge marble tiled bathroom – was Eddie's toothbrush supposed to go here? Was this too close or not close enough? Could they share this towel? – Eddie followed a still slightly bumbling Richie into the adjoining bedroom. Like the rest of the house it was huge, adorned with modern furniture and buried under a layer of Richie stuff. Every available surface was covered with clothes, papers, books and other odds and ends Eddie hadn't noticed before.

Then his eyes fell on the bed.

"That's a huge fucking bed," Eddie commented as he stepped up to the furniture in question.

Richie clambered into the bed a little clumsily and got under the covers. "Yeah, it's super comfy! But …" he trailed off a little and fiddled with his glasses.

"A little lonely?" Eddie wanted to know.

Richie nodded.

With a soft, reassuring smile, Eddie too crawled into the bed, sat next to Richie and tried to ignore the awkward feeling rising in his gut. This remembered him of all the countless sleepovers they had had as children. Lying close to each other, shoulders not quite touching, both oblivious of the other boy's feelings.

"Well, now that I'm here, this bed wont be mistaken for lonely anymore, you can be sure of that," Eddie grinned. "I do need my space to sleep and I'll take it, you'll see."

Richie gave him a grin in return, it was a thin and tired affair, but the relief and happiness in it were real.

Leaving his insecurity behind, Eddie slung his arm around Richie's back and let his other hand rest on his cheek, drawing him close. With no resistance at all, Richie slumped against Eddie and both men gingerly lay back into the huge mess of pillows, cushions and blankets.

With a sigh, Richie curled into a ball, pressed his face tightly against Eddie's chest and lay still.

"Thank you, Eds," he whispered.

Eddie's heart skipped a beat and a smile sprang to his lips. He placed a careful kiss on Richie's head.

"Don't worry about that."

"Night."

"Good night, Rich."

Eddie closed his eyes and for a moment they lay in silence, but the glaring light of the bedside lamp on Richie's side pierced through his eyelids.

"You idiot forgot to turn your fucking light off," Eddie grumbled.

Richie just freed his hands from his tight hold on Eddie, clapped them, and the light went out.

"Posh bastard," Eddie commented and snuggled closer to the alreadydrowsily humming Richie.

"And you love it."

***

Suddenly the first days of Richie and Eddie being a couple fast forwarded into weeks. It was surprising how a quickly a routine could settle in, if you didn't look out.

Since Eddie was still in good graces with his company, nobody said a word, when he asked for another two months remote work due to personal reasons. That these personal reasons were his newly found boyfriend that was also his long lost childhood crush never came up in the telephone calls.

Still, those reasons were more than a handful of work of their own.

As it turned out, it was of course more than hard for Richie to accept who he was and act upon it. After his grand diva-like exit of the TV series set and his hour-long phone call with his manager, he crawled back to work like a beaten dog.

Naturally Eddie and Richie had fought about it. For Eddie the work on the series was a major factor of Richie's bad health and self-esteem. There he still had to play his assumed role of the trashmouth womanizing comedian, who – as it turned out – he wasn't. Of course Richie had argued that this was still his job: He was comedian and _actor_. And he needed money to live off. The TV show was just the means to an end.

In the end, Eddie had given in. To change your live wasn't something you did in a day's work. Far from it.

Still, Eddie tried to help Richie with that as best as he could. Stopping the other man from his habitual drug use – especially tranquilizers – was one thing. The still persistent stress due to the work on the series made Richie long for the relieving pills. But Eddie would have none of that. So instead of taking some pills to shut down the symptoms of his anxious and tense body, Richie had let himself be calmed by Eddie. With words, hugs or just his plain presence. At first it had been hard since Richie’s body had shown clear signs of withdrawal; Shaking hands, bad temper and a lot of vomiting. But as the substances left his system, it became more bearable. Gradually Eddie became a touchstone for Richie when his emotions ran too high. Who would have thought that an OCD driven hypochondriac could emanate such calm and warmth.

Eddie had even started to accompany Richie to the set as best as he could, which had helped Richie a lot with his anxiety there. Of course it was always under the guise of a very good friend which hurt. It somehow felt more like dangling a carrot under a donkeys nose: They were finally together after all these years but still no one could ever know. At least in some quiet moments they had slunk back to Richie's trailer to let go of their guard and enjoy their time together. As far as that was possible in Richie's trailer. That thing was a portable dump. On such days Richie had called Eddie his emotional support dog, for which he got a good, loving slap to the back of his head.

Steadily, Richie's lifestyle became more stable. He didn't need his two shots of whiskey in his morning coffee to get going or the tranquilizers to quell his racing heart through the day or the valium to sleep at night.

And funnily enough, Eddie found himself settling into this couple life way more easier than he had imagined. Of course he still chased Richie around the house when he forgot the clean up after himself or didn't wash his hands properly. But something inside him just unwound and came to rest. This felt good.

This felt also good. Right now Richie had rested his head on one side of Eddie's chest, as the other man sat in bed and tried to read a signedhardcover edition of Bill's recent novel. Funnily enough, Richie wasn't that big ol' horny pervert he wanted everyone to believe him to be. In fact Richie was more than vanilla, he just loved to be cuddled and getting his hair petted.

_Like the big goofy Labrador he his_ , Eddie thought and had to suppress a chuckle, in order to appear annoyed as he had opposed to Richie's lying down on him. It _was_ really hard to properly read the book with Richie weighing him down. But he loved it nonetheless.

"What're you laughing at? Bill finally found a funny bone in his body? Hah! Get it? Bone? Because of the gruesome horror stories he writes," Richie laughed.

Huffing, Eddie turned the page. "No, he's still awfully serious."

"Aw man, that guy should cheer up sometime. Like you did," Richie advised and settled more fully against Eddie and accidentally knocked down the book. "Oops."

"Yes, that cheered me up immensely, dickwad," Eddie grumbled, but let it go and slung his arms around the soft frame of Richie's body, since he was getting rather tired, too. The other man hummed in delight.

Today Richie had been a full twelve hours on the set without Eddie, who had to take part in a serious conference call. When Richie had come home he had looked spent and drawn. But after a hearty take away dinner and some mindless cartoons while lounging on the couch in offensively baggy sweatpants he looked better by far.

Still, Eddie was concerned as always.

"Today was long," he commented.

"Yeah. We started shooting some scenes and I didn't really hit it off with Sarah," Richie replied defeatedly, the glasses sitting lopsided on his face reflected lamps soft glow.

"She still so up in your personal space?" The minute Richie had reciprocated Eddie's love, Eddie had become somewhat territorial.

"You bet! It's sad really, what length women will go to, to get far in show biz. Even trying to sleep with me, imagine that!"

Eddie felt a hot flush crash over his face. He could imagine it. In fact, he had imagined it, but he didn't dare go further than that. All these years in the closet and being with Myra somehow had hampered his … sexual adventures? In either way.

"I mean," Richie went on, oblivious to Eddie's blush. "Isn't it disgusting to give your body over to someone you don't even like? For me … oh."

A sudden pause. Eddie looked up.

"What about you, dickhead?" Eddie asked, his voice a little husky.

Richie remained silent, then a little sheepishly left his spot on Eddie's chest and laid down on the plush pillow next to him.

"It's just. The stuff I say in my shows … that isn't me," Richie admitted timidly.

"I know," Eddie breathed. "You're really boring in real life."

A smile flickered across Richie's expressive face, that for Eddie was a map of marvelous structures and forms were any emotion stood out so clearly it hurt.

"I could never sleep with someone I don't love. How gay's that?"

Eddie's heart nearly burst through his throat and the blanket became unbearably hot. Hesitantly he reached out and ran a trembling finger across the arch of Richie's eyebrow and gingerly down his cheek.

"Very."

And suddenly the outside world didn't exist anymore as the room rushed onto them. Really carefully, Richie leaned into the touch, then bent forward to brush his lips against Eddie's.

Instantly Eddie returned the kiss and held Richie fast.

Taken by surprise of the sudden intimate touch, Eddie was washed away by the sensations storming through his body and the blood crushing through his veins.

Richie in turn seemed equally overrun, but his trembling hands kept steadily running along Eddie's cheeks, over his exposed neck and into his ruffled hair. His touches made Eddie burn. Sighing and gasping he leaned into them, willing them to go _on_.

Bumbling, Eddie held fast to Richie's face, keeping him close for a deep kiss before he cautiously pushed Richie's hands to the hem of his shirt.

Richie's head flew up, his cheeks a bright red and the glasses now even farther askew. "Eds!"

Eddie blushed more than before.

"Don't …" he began, but stopped. "Just … get that shirt off me, will you?"

"You ok with that?" Richie wanted to know, his hands heavy on Eddie's hip.

"Well, I'm not quite the sight I want to be. And I sure ain't Brad Pitt, but … yes, please," Eddie stammered, his own heartbeat made him tremble and anxiety and arousal were far too intertwined by now to tell them apart.

"Of course."

Richie leaned down from his place between Eddie's legs and kissed him again, while his hands gingerly crept under the hem of the shirt, fingers caressing the new found skin before taking it off.

A little exposed, Eddie drew away and ran a hand across his face in embarrassment. He'd never really done this before. Especially after Derry he felt more insecure about his body. A huge fucking scar gnarling its way across your midriff will do that to you.

Gently a hand settled on his chest and made him look up. Richie beamed at him.

"If it helps, you're still cute, Eds," Richie said, his voice reverend.

Biting down a chuckle, Eddie replied, "That's just what a man needs to hear in such situations. Cute."

Richie laughed. "Hell, look at me."

Eddie blinked. Richie sat in front of him, the cast to his shoulders spoke volumes about his self consciousness while his arms were cast awkwardly to the sides.

Slowly, Eddie got up, brought his forehead flush with Richie's and exhaled shakily. Then he ran his hands from shoulder down over Richie's arms and settled onto the shirt's frayed hem. He pulled it over Richie's head.

"See," Richie tried to sound casual, but Eddie heard the tremble in his voice. "That's a real pouch. And the lovehandles! A one and true dad bod. I'm _hairy_! Even my chest hair has chest hair! I mean, look at you. Your … soft curve of a belly. Oh. The, the duster of hair … just … vanishing beneath the boxer … shorts."

Eddie sat in complete silence. Desire, need, love and affection had his mind in a buzz. His own thoughts couldn't get through.

"Oh god, why're you so hot," Richie groaned.

Eddie just went for it. Their lips met with an impact that sent them both reeling. Richie tumbled backwards, his arms slung around Eddie's waist and together they lay entwined in the rumpled sheets.

Everything was a blurr of confused, but loving hands questing along the exposed skin, moist breath hanging in the air between them when their wet kisses broke and shy looks and bright, relieved smiles. Between their lips whispered questions traveled back and forth.

"Like this?"

"Y-yeah."

"Oh. Ah …"

"Do you want me to …"

"Hmhm, yes …"

"Can I just–"

"Oh! That's … nice."

Moaning deeply into another kiss, Eddie let go of himself and of anymore coherent words that still lingered on his lips. Richie's touches were all so gentle, careful and surprisingly chaste as if handling something so small and fragile, it could break any second. Eddie had never felt more safe.

But then realization hit.

"Rich!"

"Imsorryididntmeanto!" Richie blathered and sat up in a flash. "Whatdidido?

Breathing heavily it took Eddie a moment to sort himself out. Himself and Richie. More precisely, their bodies. Eddie had sunken deep into the plush cocoon of the bed's blankets, his naked legs angled and wrapped around Richie's hips, who in turn had his hands left and right of Eddie's waist, his hair a dark halo around his head.

"No, no, it's fine!" Eddie assured the other man. "It's just … are you clean?"

Richie blinked for a moment. "Yeah, sure! I don't take drugs. I mean, you know the tranquilizers and shit. And weed, yeah … but nothing more serious!"

Aware of his own nakedness, Eddie squirmed a little under Richie, folding his arms as if to cover his slight chest.

"No, I mean like … STDs. It's just you must've, you know … been with someone before? Loved someone before ... after me?" Eddie hazarded, his face a mixture of guilt and shame for asking.

Realization made Richie's eyes go wide. Then his face fell. Eddie regretted everything. But the hypochondriac in him just had to know. And it was really hard to get it on when an imaginary OCD driven forty year old man screamed into your mind's ear.

"Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude! I, ah, shit. Richie, dude I'm sorry."

"What? Oh no, I'm fine," Richie actually smiled a little sheepishly and laid down next to him, pulling the comfy blanket over them both. Gently, he brought their foreheads together and looked at Eddie with such solemnity, it gave him pause. "It's just … I never slept with anybody. Couldn't get it up. Just didn't love anyone since you, sooo … yeah. Suspect I'm the 40-something virgin I mock in my own stand ups."

Still, Richie laughed.

Relief washed the tension out of Eddie's body in an instant.

"Well, I could never sleep with Myra either. Just physically wasn't even possible!" Eddie answered in kind, laughter rising in the back of his throat.

"Oh god!" Richie exclaimed and threw his hands wide in a theatrical swoop. "Ben and Beverly will have the most marvelous sex with their teenage sweetheart! And our sex will be … horrible!"

Now, Eddie couldn't hold back anymore. The laughter bubbled freely from his lips and was joint by Richie's, who held his own stomach. Chuckling and wheezing, Richie got hold of Eddie, trying to tickle him. Eddie squealed and squirmed in Richie's grasp. It was just like the old times; roughhousing and bantering. But this time it was free from all the restraints and fears.

Gradually the quick jabs and pushes became a more slower, intimate version until it was a gentle back and forth. This time, Eddie could loose himself completely, giving himself over to Richie's tender touches, moving with him in unison.

Between the kisses puffs of breath escaped their lips along with small reassuring questions and endearments. Sweat made their hands slippery, but they were nestled safely in the warmth of the blankets.

Trembling himself, Eddie guided Richie's insecure hands and together they figured out what suited them most. Eddie arched his back into Richie's gentle, steady thrusts, while the other men slung his arms around him in a tight, secure embrace.

"E-Eds," Richie huffed and buried his face deeply in the crook of Eddie's neck.

"Yeah, Rich," Eddie husked.

And in a jumble of unintelligible moans and clutching hands they came.

Eddie's wet and jittery legs just gave way the moment Richie flopped down on him, snuggling in close. Pushing his hands deep into Richie's hair, Eddie held the panting men close.

"Bev and Ben can pack up!" Eddie chuckled and Richie sputtered with laughter until tears sprang from his eyes.

"I love you, Eds," Richie choked, emotions all to clearly overwhelming him.

"I love you, too, you stupid fucking idiot," Eddie replied, while holing his sobbing and laughing boyfriend close.

***

Eddie hummed silently under his breath, as he fixed two mugs of hot cocoa with marshmallows in the brightly lit kitchen. November had already rolled around and it got dark quite early, so Eddie had taken it on himself, to install some extra lighting in Richie's kitchen. If Eddie was supposed to do anything in here, he wouldn't do it with the flimsy light source Richie had installed just because it looked 'freaking rad, dude!'. The twilight was were the germs lived ...

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Eddie eyed the beverages and had to snort. When he was younger, that had been his and the Losers favourite drink. Now it just seemed like a slow death sentence for his cholesterol and blood sugar levels. Things you do for love.

Like listening to 'Heat of the Moment' on repeat, while your boyfriend vacuumed the living room, insisting, that this was the only way he could work.

Carrying the huge mugs into the softer lit living room, Eddie made for the huge sofa, already occupied by Richie, who balanced a bowl of popcorn on his belly and watched the TV intently.

"Old Scooby-Doo re-runs? Really? Are you getting dementia early?" Eddie wanted to know and set down the mugs and took his accustomed place in the corner of the couch. Richie instantly put his feet into Eddie's lap.

"Hey, I had a hard day at work and I need to be my inner child now," Richie argued and grabbed the steaming mug.

"You never outgrew your fucking inner child, dude."

Eddie sighed. Work on set kept Richie on edge and the fear of coming out still made the other man paranoid. Even his night-terrors returned. Eddie had tried to talk to him about that. How it would all turn out for the best if he just allowed himself to let go of his fears and live freely. But Richie was too scared. Too insecure about himself that he kept on cowering in his safe closet.

"And that makes me really damn cute."

Shrugging off his dark thoughts, Eddie snorted. "Sure does."

Suddenly, before Eddie could find out who the perpetrator was on the recent Scooby-Doo episode, a simultaneous ding on both their cell phones cut through the room.

"Huh?" Richie grunted and fished for his phone that had conveniently slipped into one of the sofa's cracks.

Eddie was the first to read what the message said. "ThnksGvng? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, it's a neat-o group chat! Bill invited us over for Thanksgiving in two weeks," Richie explained who was, compared to Eddie, a little faster on the uptake of modern internet lingo. If only just that.

"Why didn't he just spell it 'Thanksgiving' then? Where're the vowels for fuck's sake?" Eddie insisted, as he typed the same response into the the group chat.

"It's funny, dude."

"Yeah, the same way you are funny," Eddie mumbled and swatted a loving hand at Richie who pecked him on the cheek, snickering. "But yeah great, we should go."

Richie sat back. "What? No. No, no, we can't go."

"Why not?" Eddie was confused and looked at Richie's suddenly panicky face, his eyes wide behind the thick glasses.

"Why? How're you going to explain us?! I'm not going there, waving and saying 'Hey folks, guess what, I'm totally in love with the Spaghetti Man now. In fact he's my boyfriend now' as if it were the most natural thing on earth."

Eddie's heart clenched and he sat himself apart from Richie, who started to look more agitated.

"And what's your problem with that, asshole? You _do_ love and I _am_ your boyfriend. They'll understand," Eddie argued, trying to stay calm as he felt his own ire rise. He knew he needed to be patient with Richie and he wanted to be. But these were their friends, why wouldn't Richie trust them to accept him? Eddie did.

"And do you know that for a fact? I'm not ruining my live just because you thought our friends were cool with that and the next thing I know, I'll be all over the news with no jobs and the butt of every gay joke in the nation!" Richie scrambled to sit up straight. His hands shaking as he gripped the phone even tighter.

A pang of guilt made Eddie wince. He really shouldn't push Richie that hard, even if it felt to him as if Richie was lying about them or denying Eddie. He raised his hands in a silent apology.

"Ok, I'm sorry, Rich. Really." He then carefully took hold of Richie's straining hands and brushed his thumbs over the knuckles. "I just … I love you so much. And … I'm so happy and proud to be with you, I want everyone to know."

Suddenly all the tension left Richie's body as he looked back at Eddie.

"Stop being so gay," he laughed and sniffled as tears sprang to his eyes. "I'm not really that good of a catch."

"Yes, well. Someone's gotta do it," Eddie said softly and pulled the devastated and trembling Richie close to lie back on the couch. Richie didn't object.

For a moment Eddie just let Richie rest on his chest, as it gently rose and fell with his breath, before he went on. "You really think Bev and the guys wouldn't accept you – us?"

Richie's hand fisted Eddie's shirt a little more.

"Yes. No. I mean … I dunno what anyone would say," Richie mumbled. "I'm just so afraid to loose them over it."

Eddie's heart sank at Richie's voiced fear. When he thought about the Losers, all Eddie could see were warm, happy faces of his loving and supporting friends. He didn't fear they would leave at all. But for Richie … the fear of being outed, of loosing his 'personality', his place he had made for himself in this world to be safe must be more than terrifying.

"I'm … sorry you feel that way," Eddie said.

"I mean, it's just, there's so much depending on me being … 'Richie Trashmouth Tozier', you know? That's just the schtick that sells and …" here Richie paused and averted his eyes as he pressed his face into Eddie's sweatshirt. "I couldn't bear people talking about me, laughing about me because of that."

It was a fear of losing control. Richie couldn't stand being laughed about if he wasn't the one directing where the jokes would hit. He would feel publicly humiliated and shamed.

Running his fingers through the long, wavy hair, Eddie pressed a gentle kiss on Richie's head.

"I understand," he murmured.

"How can you take it?" Richie wanted to know. His voice timid.

"I think I just don't care anymore about what other people want from me. After my mom and Myra basically ran my whole life, I don't want to experience that again. It's my life and I am doing whatever I want with it. Even if it is dating a forty-something whacky comedian," Eddie explained, hoping to cheer Richie up.

Richie chuckled. "A horrible decision," he replied and fell silent again.

Eddie listened to the silence around them. In the distance he could hear the traffic run by. In front of them the TV had gone silent and bright letters on the screen asked, if they were still watching Scooby-Doo.

"I'm sorry I pushed your buttons like that earlier. I just want you to know that I think telling the Losers would make things easier for you. They are still your friends. They love you and will support you, Rich. You deserve to be loved as you are and–" Eddie didn't get any further. Richie's shaking had become even worse and a sudden gush of tears and sobs racked his body. "Oh Rich."

"'msorry," he choked, tears staining his face.

"It's fine, Rich. _I'm_ sorry," Eddie soothed the other man in his arm.

"I want t-to, I want to," Richie babbled on. "But those fucking lights … I can't."

"What lights?" Eddie was confused as he held the other men still firmly in is arms, as he began to twist and fidget.

"The d-deadlights. They showed me everything that would happen. I, I can't come out. It'll ruin everything. So much pain …"

Eddie had never seen Richie distraught like that. And he had never spoken about his experience in the deadlights either. For Bev it had been the same. It had taken her quite some time and stress from being hunted by IT to talk about her experience while floating in those horrible monster's beams. No wonder Richie had trouble sleeping and that the tranquilizers were such a handy thing to help him cope, despite ruining his body physically.

"Richie, I–"

"I m-met IT in Derry when we were looking for our tokens. He hunted me as Paul fucking Bunyan," Richie went on. Each word sounding more agitated than the other as he fought for dominance over his vocal chords with his sobbing. "I-IT knew. IT knew my secret. A-and in the deadlights IT showed me what would happen. Bev told us that she saw the future in those lights and that it came true. Stanley died. I don't want that future to happen, Eddie. Please."

Eddie's heart tore at Richie's painful plea. Apparently he had only scratched at the surface of Richie's stress and trauma.

"Of course not. I'm sorry, Rich. I'm sorry," Eddie murmured into Richie's tousled hair, comforting the man as best as he could.

Never had the other man been so open about his experience with IT and the only thing Eddie could do, was to hold on, as best as he could. He hugged Richie until the sobs and whimpers still tumbling from Richie's lips subsided. Around them the world seemed to be standing still.

Then there was s painful swallow, then a sniffle and then a moment's silence. "Thanks for being secretly gay with me, dude … Love you."

Eddie nearly choked on his snort and his own tears, as he heard Richie say that, who even laughed a little himself. "My pleasure, asswipe. Love you, too."

***

"Get the fuck out of my sight!"

"Richie please calm down."

"I'll calm down when I feel like it! And I'll feel like it when I've taken five valium whole and a liter of whiskey straight, you fucking _dick_ ," Richie screamed. His voice was thin and wavering. Like his whole appearance. From one second to the next he had become completely undone. His shaggy hair stood on end, his brightly colored clothes hung askew on his frame, and his whole body shivered and fidgeted as if he had been set on fire.

Eddie's own heart jammed so much blood and adrenaline though his system, that it was hard to keep focus and not pass out. He had just tried talking to Richie about the upcoming Thanksgiving invitation from Billy, as the other man flipped.

"Richie please," Eddie begged. "I didn't mean anything by it. Please calm down."

Eddie grabbed for Richie's hand but the other man stumbled backwards, eyes wild like a feral animal.

"G-get away from me!"

It had been five days after Bill's group chat text. All of the Losers had already accepted the invitation and went on about their happy banter in the group. Richie and Eddie had both replied that they needed to check what their work schedule held for them. Not a word about anything else.

Now, only about a week left to Thanksgiving, Eddie had asked Richie to reconsider his wish of not going. It had been late Sunday afternoon and Richie had sat in his office working on the TV series script, after he had finally managed to get Clark let him have some amendments made on the initial writing.

So Eddie had just brought up some coffee and mentioned the meeting fleetingly in a side bar, but Richie had gone off like a rocket. The past days had been very tense at work and Eddie found it more and more trying to get through to the other man. Eddie just knew that there was some inside battle going on, that pulled Richie back and for between his deepest, darkest fears and trauma by the deadlights and his love for Eddie.

A love that Eddie just now had jeopardized for some fucking turkey.

Taking a step back, Eddie held his hands wide in a calming gesture.

"Please, Richie. I'm really sorry. Let's all calm down and … and talk about it, alright? I can see that you're suffering and it hurts me, please."

Richie's face was made up of anger, distrust and hurt. The wet trails of spilled tears gave him a devastated look. Not to mention his shallow skin and the rings under his eyes. Eddie could _taste_ Richie's need for a good swig of whiskey and a shot of phenobarbital.

"I told you, I saw everything! The moment I tell anyone about me, lives will collapse. The deadlights showed me and they show the future, Bev told us!" Richie stammered, his hands jittering all over his body, pulling at his clothes, kneading his upper arms, brushing through his already wild hair. He looked like a wired man. "And people. Will. Hate. Me!"

Torn apart by not being able to get close to Richie, to just pull him close, drag him to the ground into a bonecrushing embrace and holding him fast until his panic attack subsided, Eddie fought his own rising tears.

"I know, Rich. I know you told me," he whimpered. "But Pennywise is dead and–"

"You know nothing!" The other man yelled. "Y-you said you wouldn't make me do it. A-and now your banging on about it again! You're a fucking liar!"

"I-I just want you to realize that you could be out here. Be happy and proud of who you are!"

"But I'm not proud! Nobody will be proud of me, either! The, the media, the fucking audience will kill me, Eddie! I can't loose them!"

Now Eddie just snapped.

"And what do you care about them?! Am I not more important than all of your fans?! Don’t you think that love and support from your family and friends is worth more than the audiences? You don’t even write your own shit!"

Richie suddenly bristled, all his fear completely turned into anger.

"Well let’s see you try hide your gayness in a heterosexual macho world, taking out female sex workers to keep up your image although you can NEVER GET IT UP?! The humiliation? The bribe money to keep them silent, the endless drinks and pills to keep me going, to keep my hands from shaking because you just want to scream out. Who. You. Are!"

"But now is your time Richie, scream! You’re gay, admit it!"

"I CAN’T!"

Eddie was taken aback by the volume and the venom of that statement. "Not even for me?"

"…No. Not even for you," Richie whispered.

The room fell dead silent and Eddie just swayed on the spot. The floor suddenly yanked from underneath him. Richie stood in front of him like a lost child. Anger fuming inside him, tears quelling form his eyes and fear clutching him tight like drowning man. He was so afraid, so fired up with rage that he could only lash out and Eddie got the brunt of it.

Before Eddie could catch his breath, suppress his own sobs and say something, Richie stormed past him.

"Just leave," Richie said and then went out of the house.

***

Richie had been driving through the silent night for god knew how long. He had just jumped into his Jeep, put in the gear and floored the pedal so hard, that even the automatic opening front gate nearly couldn't keep up with his speed.

Outside the city's limits the darkness on the streets was only parted by the harsh beam of his Jeep's headlights as he cut along the winding roads.

Inside him his emotions swirled and buzzed like a swarm of bluebottle flies over a piece of dead meat. The buzz drove him on and pushed any other thought aside. All thoughts except one.

He was floating in the deadlights. Formless, bodiless clutches of light that still crushed his body as if they were iron tongs. The cold glow had spread across all over his body, seeped into his skin and flayed him open. Spread apart like this, the universe had come crushing through his skull and into his brain with all the possible timelines and life's he could have lived. He had felt the lights drawing on his uttermost fear – being exposed as gay, as different. His fear of not belonging, of being a meaningless human being that no one cared about. Like his parents hadn't cared about him. Slowly the light had gained more and more power over him, as the images crashed into him.

He had just caught glimpses as he had tried to fight the lights as best as he could. But it hadn't worked. He had seen himself and Eddie on TV, holding hands talking. The next image had been of a crazy mob hounding them past the gate of his estate. He and Eddie fighting. Eddie hit him, he had hit back. A flurry of dark swashes and forms and suddenly Eddie had run off, into his own car and … into a lamppost on some long and deserted country road. Dead. Richie spiraled. He cried. Cried for Eddie, for someone to help him undo this horror. But the vision went on relentless. Bill, Ben, Beverly and Mike cursing him, shunning him for the murder of their dearest friend. Richie couldn't find any foothold anymore. He slipped. The alcohol got him, the drugs filled him up and dissolved him inside and out. He died somewhere in a ditch in LA behind a shady club with homeless people and junkies staring on. Forgotten. No one cared.

"FUCK!" Richie screamed. The steering wheel ripped itself free from his hands as his tires caught in a huge pothole on the road. The large Jeep spun and rushed off of the road.

The moment lasted forever until an earsplitting crash brought time back into it's usual flow, as the hood of the car caught on a lamppost and brought a stop tho the wildly spinning 5 tons of metal.

Everything was black. Only one increment of light pierced Richie's vision, as he cracked open his eyes. A siren wailed in his head, relentless, making him wince. Fighting for his bearings, he saw that he was still in the driver's seat of his car, that itself had rushed down the road only to graze a lamppost with it's right headlight. That sudden impact had brought a stop to his momentum, landing him more or less safely in a grassy ditch next to the road. He had been lucky.

"Fucking shit," Richie mumbled. No airbags had gone off and he must have only hit his head quit hard on the headrest, judging by the bump in the back of his head. His heart raced as the last seconds of the crash replayed themselves in his mind. This was the exact same spot where he had seen Eddie die in the deadlights.

Richie had only been inches away from the fate that would have happened to Eddie if Richie had come out and … No! That wasn't true! IT … Pennywise was gone. They had killed IT. Together the Losers had told that fucking clown what it really was: A pathetic monster full of fear that the only way it could become powerful was to put fear into the people it wanted to devour. The deadlights … were just another form of instilling fear. A telling of a horrible future that would make you act to ITs wishes.

Suddenly it dawned on Richie and he cursed. The future Bev had seen wasn't the future at all. It was just some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. Tapping onto some internal fear you held, IT showed you an 'inevitable' future, that made you act subconsciously, governed by that very own fear to bring it about. There had never been the chance of Eddie dying because of Richie. It had all been a net of lies spun by an otherworldly horror, feeding of the pain and fear of its victims.

Lies.

Richie sat stunned as the shock of the crash seeped out of him, leaving him drained and weak.

He had pushed Eddie away and hurt him because of _lies_.

"Fuck!" Riche screamed. And without a moment's hesitation, he re-started the protesting and rumbling car and shot out of the ditch and back on the road.

It had only taken him half an hour and several crossed red lights to get back into the city and off to his estate. When he finally crashed through the door of his house, it was empty.

"Eddie!" Richie yelled along the deserted corridors as he desperately ran through the house, the garden, the empty driveway. Fear swallowing him whole.

Eddie had gone.

***

At first, Eddie was too stunned to do anything, after Richie had yelled at him to leave. He couldn't cope. One minute he had had it all and then it had been gone. The huge mansion was utterly silent and felt more like a tomb, than the lively home it had been just hours ago. A home to their lost time together. A space to catch up, heal and grow.

Shakily, Eddie had gone over to the worn out swivel chair and sat down. Staring into space.

The deadlights. He had seen them, how they had raised Richie high into the air, his body limp with his mind apparently filled with some other conscience.

When they had found Bev all those years ago, she had also been invaded by the deadlights and had been floating in the air as if supported by invisible wires. Years later, she had told them what the lights had done to her. What she had seen.

So Richie must have seen something similar. A future that was horrible and inevitable. Something that governed your whole live that ... put fear into your very being.

Fear.

Eddie sprang up from the worn seat. That was it! Pennywise had used the lights to install fear into his victims and then feed off of it, before he devoured the whole physical body, too. Or at least maim it so much, that survival wasn't an option.

But IT was dead. The future IT had shown Richie could never become real because that eldritch monster was gone. And indeed, if that future had ever been real in the first place. Maybe it was just the same like the sickness his mother always told him he had. And he had believed him and in some way it had come true. He had asthma, he had an inhaler. But ... hadn't that just been placebos?

When he had told the Leper to his face that it was weak and the Losers had done the same to IT, he had shrunk and died. IT was a creature of lies and deceit with which it governed the lives of the humans around.

Richie was just trapped in one of those lies. Believing that something terrible would happen, if he should ever try to overcome his fear of coming out.

The sudden rush of realization and adrenaline crashed through his body and his legs staggered into motion. He needed to find Richie!

***

Richie had gone.

Outside the house, night had already fallen and the sky was a deep inky-blue tinged with a grey shade of lilac. Despite the dark, Eddie had seen that the Jeep was gone. So he had taken the considerably smaller and less comfortable car, Richie had bought him, so Eddie could run some errands while still 'staying over' at Richie's.

A quick tour around the block and check ins with Richie's most frequently inhabited bars yielded no results. He usually blew off steam in smaller, badly lit clubs, where no one was likely to notice a celebrity slinking in. But the attempt to visit each and every possible location appeared to be a futile idea.

After his initial adrenaline induced panic attack had slowly given way to his usual, more focussed thinking, Eddie decided to drive back to Richie's. Richie was bound to return some time. At least Eddie hoped.

Returning to the mansion with a heavy heart and doubt gnawing at his mind – Richie had seemed so deeply shaken, that Eddie wouldn't put it past him, that he would leave the country – Eddie spied a huge, familiar shape parked squarely on the moonlit driveway.

The Jeep! Richie was back.

Without killing the engine, Eddie sprang out of the car and sprinted to the front door, fumbled frantically with the lock and nearly fell into the hallway.

"Richie?!" He bellowed as loud as his lungs would allow him. His heart hammered in his throat and his gut contorted and seemed to dissolve into acid.

There was no response. The living room was even dark.

Skittering Eddie came to a halt and looked around. No one seemed to be inside. Then his eyes caught a dimly shine coming from outside, further down the garden and around the house.

A dreadful realization struck him. The jacuzzi!

Nearly tripping over his feet, Eddie ran outside into the dark again, headed for that soft glow.

Nestled in the dark of the garden in a dip of the ground was the jakuzzi. The area around it perfectly laid out with soft, creme colored virgin stone and rimmed with gleaming chrome lanterns.

And bottles. The whole ground was littered with whiskey, vodka and beer bottles. And then there was this dark shape in the pool. The bubbling waters rocking it back and forth. It was Richie.

"Fuck no!" Eddie screamed.

With a huge leap he jumped into the pool, hot water burst against his face. He chocked as he just plunged underneath the surface and blindly grabbed for the lifeless body. When he got a handful of wet, soggy clothes, Eddie stood up as best as he could and yanked Richie with him.

The instant he broke the surface, Eddie gasped and sputtered and only barely managed to haul Richie over the rim and lay him flat out on the stone ground.

Before Eddie could panic anymore, Richie convulsed and writhed in the ever growing puddle of cooling water and heaved.

In a burst, Eddie was hit by a warm surge of alcohol and pool water. But he didn't care.

"Richie! Damn it you fucker, breath!" Eddie yelled as he got a hold of Richie's slippery face and just shook it.

"Irrrghlcnntgwihu–" Richie choked and Eddie stopped.

"What? What, what what?! What?!"

Richie grabbed Eddie's wrist weakly and opened his eyes. His glasses lost somewhere in the pool.

"I can't breath ... with you choking me ... Eds," Richie slurred, his lips pulled into a feeble grin.

Eddie just broke. He pressed his lips against Richie's, kissed him, his cheeks, his forehead and let a stream of incoherent love confessions, endearments and insults run freely over his lips.

"I'm sorry, Rich," Eddie managed to sob.

"Eddie ... Spaghetti," Richie breathed hoarsely. "You're ... back. I thought I, I thought I hurt you so much that ... I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's fine. It's fine," Eddie mumbled and pulled the still shivering and completely drunk and sick Richie into his arms. The other man feebly hugged back, but Eddie felt Richie's need, his love and his fear that Eddie knew just too well. The fear of losing the other. But that wouldn't happen. Eddie held on.

***

Eddie wasn't sure how long they had sat outside in front of the undeterredly bubbling jacuzzi, before he had gathered enough strength to pull the weak Richie to his feed and herd him back into the house.

All the way into the house and up the stairs, Richie had clung to Eddie's shirt with desperate finders dug deep into the fabric. Afraid, that Eddie might vanish. In return, Eddie did the same. The hold he had on Richie might have been a tad too hard, but he felt the other man stagger and would never let him go again.

In a quick, focussed fashion Eddie undressed himself, helped Richie who fought with the wet shirt getting caught over his head and with stepping out of his shorts and boxers since standing on one leg wasn't possible.

After toweling down and getting them both into a dryer set of clothes, Eddie maneuvered Richie back to bed, who happily obliged.

Snuggled deep into the soft, thick blankets and covered by a horribly checkered comforter, Eddie finally came to rest and the past hours played back in his mind. Next to him, Richie had rolled onto his side and pressed his now clammy forehead against Eddie's shoulder. Gently, Eddie ran his fingers through the wet and now even more curly hair.

"Feeling better?" He asked.

"No, still sorry," Richie mumbled.

Eddie gave a weak chuckle. "It's really fine, Rich. Don't worry."

Richie looked up. "But I do! I said some horrible things ... again. I could've told you about ... what I saw in the lights. It was just lies! I thought something dreadful would happen if–"

"If you ever came out of the closet because IT showed you in the deadlights? I figured."

Richie sighed and pressed himself closer. "Yeah. And after Bev had told us, that she had seen the future in those lights I just ... I thought it would all become real. I saw us. Together. But the media hunted us, we fought and you ... crashed your car and everyone just hated me and–"

"Richie." Eddie cut in just before the other men started to unravel again, his alcohol dazed eyes already brimming with tears. "It's really alright, I understand. I mean, I can't imagine how horrible those lights must have been, how they must've tapped into your fears and just ... got a hold on you. But IT's dead and ... you're free."

A moment of deep silence then, "Don't you mean gay?" Richie replied.

Eddie gave him a soft, loving whack to the back of his head and had to stifle a laugh. "Idiot."

They both chuckled until their mirth ebbed away and they lay still in the softly lit bedroom.

"You do know, that it's fine and that people are gay, right?" Eddie asserted.

"Yeah, people," Richie retorted a little warily and shrugged his shoulders.

"Are you honestly telling me you're _not_ people?"

"I'm a star!" Richie boasted.

"You're a fucking idiot, is what you are," Eddie moaned in return.

"And you still love me ... right?" Richie sounded just enough insecure to have Eddie back on his heels.

"'Course I do," he breathed and leaned down to kiss the other men. This time the kiss was slower and more passionate than the frantic fumbling at the base of the pool where Eddie had been overrun by the relief of Richie's survival.

It was a reverend exchange of touch and care, that Eddie felt all of his strain and fear wash away. Finally they had left behind the last remains of their childhood's shadow that had threatened to govern their lives.

The kiss broke and Richie tenderly brushed his hand along Eddie's scarred cheek.

"Do you still wanna take me out to that turkey dinner at Bill's?" Richie wanted to know.

Eddie smiled. "Only if you want to. If you still rather be secretly gay with me, that's ok, too."

Richie grinned crookedly. "No I think it's fine. I had enough. Of all of it. The fucking lies, the stupid TV show, monster clowns ... and Sarah! I also want my magical Disney princess awakening. But only ... if you'll be my prince and take me to turkey dinner."

"If you refrain from wearing a bright pink and sparkly dress, sure."

"What?! Eddie, don't be so conservative! It's 2019 and I have the same rights as a woman to wear a dress."

They laughed until tears rolled down their faces. Tears of joy but also relief. Now they could start on their lives together.


	7. Going on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Eddie and Richie are finally in a relationship, there is only one last step Richie has to take.

Richie watched Eddie vigorously scrub the armrests of his seat with the towelette the flight attendant had given them for refreshment before the take off. At least Eddie seemed undisturbed by the task ahead to come out to all of their friends on Thanksgiving. Family gatherings were always complicated and stressful, but this time they wanted to go all in.

After their last fight and Richie's really stupid and botched attempt to kill himself – well, he really only had put his head underwater and held his breath, feeling it in him that he never could follow through – Eddie and Richie had of course agreed to meet the rest of the Losers at Bill's for the holidays. Only mentioning that they would arrive together since Eddie had relocated to California for business.

It was kind of the truth.

And now Richie sat in his first class seat, trying to suppress his nervousness. Coming out was daunting, but he had underestimated Eddie's anxieties while traveling. They had washed, disinfected and cleaned their hands, doorhandles and water bottles so frequently, there hadn't been any time to fret. Now there was.

Of course Richie had made fun of Eddie all the way, glossing over his hammering heart and suppressing the need to just hold Eddie's hand in his own. To keep himself grounded. And to keep Eddie from scrubbing his skin off.

"I mean I understand that you couldn't afford first class flights before, Eds, but believe me, they do the cleaning _for_ you," Richie commented and watched the other men with a lopsided grin.

"Sure, trashmouth. I'll believe that when I don't find half of the previous passenger's grime under my armrest," Eddie muttered an put the towel away.

Richie chuckled and looked outside. The sky was an uncommon flat November grey for Californian weather and the first droplets of rain already clung to the small airplane window. Despite being a huge celebrity Richie hated flying and he just knew that this seven hour ride wouldn't go smoothly because apparently they had managed to catch one of the two days it actually rained in LA.

Having squabbled lovingly with Eddie for about twenty minutes and evaded an enthusiastic fan from the front row, the plane began to taxi the runway.

The huge engine lumbered along the tarmac, the metal wings shivering while it parted the by now pouring rain. And with a bump and a small drop they had taken off.

Richie moaned, as the vertigo set in and his stomach dropped several inches.

Out of the corner of his squinting eyes he saw Eddie's hand twitch forward but then it drew back again. Now, Richie's heart hurt, too.

"You ok, Rich?" Eddie asked instead, his hand kneading his knee.

"It's fine. I'm really just only a ground person. A really down to earth celebrity," Richie assured Eddie and tried to sit up more straight, ignoring his nauseous feeling. "And anyways, it's nothing that a nice shot of whiskey from the drinks trolley can't fix."

Eddie huffed. "You're not getting drunk on the fucking plane, Tozier."

"Just a nip–" Richie countered but a sudden bump made him clam up and nearly jump out of his seat.

"Rich!" Eddie exclaimed.

But Richie didn't care anymore. His hand shot forward and he gripped Eddie's hand tight. If he was about to spill the beans anyway, he could at least benefit from it now and if that consisted of holding his boyfriends hand while he had a panic attack, so be it.

"Fucking hate flying," Richie pressed through pursed lips.

Eddie's fingers gingerly returned the hold. "I thought you were a star! Accustomed to the fine luxury of flying," Eddie gloated, but with a loving hint.

Richie chuckled awkwardly and closed his eyes and leaned his head on Eddie's shoulder. "Just because I can afford it, doesn't mean I like it. It's like caviar: Fucking expensive, tastes like shit, every one is eating it. I mean it. Really, fish EGGS?!"

Eddie laughed.

After the first bumps of bad weather the flight became much more even and Richie found himself relaxing into Eddie's touch, who had begun to brush his fingers through his hair.

And surprisingly … the world still turned. The flight attendant came around with their meals and some drinks and didn't even bat an eye at Richie, who sat up a little awkwardly and felt himself blush. But next to him Eddie was calm incarnate, quizzed the woman about every ounce of possible allergens in the food and then more or less happily settled on the vegetarian option with a nice glass of red.

"And for you, Mr. Tozier?"

Richie blinked and looked at the flight attendant in surprise.

"Uh, yeah. I'll have the, uh beef and a bourbon if you have it?" He answered more or less eloquently.

"Certainly," the woman replied and sat his meal out before him. "And if I can just say, your gig in Madison Square Garden was amazing. I just love how spot on and sarcastically you describe men. My boyfriend's just the same," She went on, giggled and rolled the trolley away to the next row of passengers.

"Uh, thanks?" Richie said baffled, then turned to Eddie who had a piece of broccoli halfway to his mouth. "Did you hear that? I mean, she saw me– us and … still liked my show? Didn't she see how _gay_ I was just now?"

Eddie snorted and lifted his eyebrow theatrically. "Dude. You're a comedian. She probably thinks your stage attitude is just that: A schtik. Not your real self."

"Huh." Riche was still flabbergasted. He hadn't expected it to be that easy. But Eddie was right. It _was_ just a stage thing and most people knew that. Maybe his career wouldn't crash and burn after all. Maybe it would just have a small crash, a small burn. Or Richie would. But now he felt like it was nothing that couldn't be put right again.

Relief made him giddy and his heart flutter. Now he felt quite excited to tell the Losers. He put his hand on Eddie's knee.

"Thank you, Eds."

Eddie seemed surprised but then smiled, the lines in his face showing clearly and his brown eyes turned soft. "It's fine."

Riche leaned forward and kissed the other man as the plane flew on, undeterred, towards their future.

***

At the airport they hastily got their bags, caught a taxi and went straight to Bill's place, which also turned out to be a mansion. Writing horror novels seemed to be quite a lucrative job.

The weather in Maine was wet and significantly colder than California in this time of year. Evening had already fallen, as Richie and Eddie dragged their bags through the cold and towards the vastly illuminated house. Luckily Richie had managed to persuade Eddie not to bring his entire closet and back-up pillows and blankets, as he had done when he had moved in at Richie's.

"Quick, ring the bell! I'm freezing my balls of!" Richie chattered.

"Yeah, yeah, relax," Eddie replied and pressed the bell.

It was a very sophisticated sound as it rang through the house and Richie alike. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. It was the day before Thanksgiving and he and Eddie had agreed on telling the Losers right this evening. Just in case anything should happen. They didn't want to spoil Thanksgiving.

The door opened and Bill appeared.

"Eddie! Richie! Come in!" He greeted them and swept them inside.

The hallway looked equally sophisticated and rather British but with a modern touch. Deep plush, red and ornate carpets lay over a dark wooden floor and paintings and shelves lined the walls. It also was rather warm and Richie let go of the breath he had held.

"Bill, old chap! In line with your novels I see you're living in a haunted British mansion in the middle of nowhere!" Richie greeted his friend and immediately felt the usual ease and comfort he always forgot he had when being surrounded by his friends.

"Haha yeah, it some how looks appropriate, doesn't it? Hey Eddie, good to see you again! How're you?"

Eddie got rid of his far too think a jacket and returned Bill's hug.

"Hi Bill. Oh well, I'm not sure, I think I might just have contracted some cold. I remember distinctly that I touched something wet in the taxi–"

"He means he is fine," Richie cut in and threw an arm around Eddie and gave him a good natured shake but resisting the urge to give him a smack on the cheek. Not now. "You know, Bill, traveling with Eddie is like taking your granny out for a stroll."

"Shut it, dickhead," Eddie grumbled.

Bill laughed and indicated them to follow him. "I can imagine. But really, what a nice coincident that you could come in on the same flight."

"Yeah, my assignment to LA by my company was really rather sudden after my stay at the hospital," Eddie explained smoothly. And Richie was a little jealous how at ease the other man appeared. "But it gives me the really rather questionable privilege to travel with the Trashmouth."

"Oi, I'm the best travel companion anyone can ask for. I'm funny!"

"As funny as foot-and-mouth-disease."

"I see you two are getting along as always," Bill said and showed them into a huge living room full with wood paneled walls, a large fireplace surrounded by massive couches and a very exquisite looking opium coffee table. "Just like those two. Look who's here."

On couch on the right hand side sat Ben and Beverly. Behind them a huge oriel window showed the dark outsides.

"Ben! Bev!"

At hearing their names, both of them looked up and their faces split into happy grins.

"Richie!" Beverly exclaimed and flung herself at him. And with a wholehearted laughter, that Richie didn't know he would have been capable in these circumstances, he returned her embrace and flung her about.

"Bev! Bevvy!"

Next to him Ben and Eddie embraced and immediately launched off into some talk about real estate, architecture and insurance. It felt like they had never parted.

"Gosh, Richie. I'm so happy to see you. You left Derry so soon after ... everything," Beverly said and gave his arm a soft squeeze.

"Well," Richie chuckled a little awkwardly maybe. "I just felt you and that big ol' handsome hunk there needed some space. And Eddie was in good hands so, yeah."

"The fuck I was," Eddie interrupted with a huff, but Richie saw the smile playing underneath the pursed lips. "Derry Hospital is miles off of adequate modern medical care! I could have died."

"And I'm sure you would have wanted _me_ to take medical care if you," Richie.

"Well, better than the sawbones back in Derry Hospital," a familiar soft voice joined in.

Ben, Beverly, Eddie and Richie whirled around to see who Bill had silently bought into the crowded living room.

"Mike!"

And then the bustle really started. Everyone was talking head over heels and Richie finally felt like coming home. It was as if he was embraced by a warming glow, that didn't emanate from the fireplace but from the people around him. Everyone smiled and talked about what they liked the best. People interrupted, bickered, agreed, supported and just chatted away, like in the good old times in the club house.

And through it all, Richie caught Eddie's eyes. He stood between Bill and Mike who were heavily discussing Bill's recent novel. Eddie's thin lips lifted into a soft smile. He looked tired after the long flight, but there was also a longing in his eyes that rushed through Richie's body and into his very core.

They were here. Surrounded by friends who knew them inside out despite the 27 years of oblivion and silence. A deep friendship rekindled and strengthened by recent events. Through their shared fight against IT a lot of memories and newly shared experiences had passed. Everyone had a secret, suffered from trauma, had fears. But all of them had opened up about it and found a way to heal.

Now was Richie's time.

"Guys," he croaked. The Losers talked on. "Hey guys, listen!"

The others stopped talking and turned around. Only just now Richie realized how far off he had stood and now everyone looked at him like he was on stage. Despite being his job, he hated it.

"What is it, Richie?" Bill asked.

"I, uh,"Richie stammered. His heart beat so fast his whole body shivered with it and a hot flush encased his body. He felt sick.

He then caught Eddie's eye who stood amongst the Losers. His face calm, supporting. A little understanding smile on his lips saying 'Whatever you'll do, I follow.'

And that was it.

Richie exhaled.

"I, I have something to tell you guys. Something I've always kept to myself. When we were kids. Five months ago, back in Derry," Richiebegan and hated the tremor in his voice.

"What is it, Richie?" Beverly asked gently. The other's looked concerned, too.

"Uh, I don't know how to put it and I hope you … you won't be angry with me for not saying anything sooner but … Um, I'm gay. Yeah. That's it I'm gay."

Suddenly the vast room was chock full of silence. The trembling got worse and Richie felt the world slipping from him as tears welled up in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I mean, I– I should have told you sooner but Bowers and the fucking eighties and–"

But Richie didn't get any further. All of a sudden he was hugged left and right. Beverly had pulled him so close, that she nearly knocked off the glasses from his nose. Ben, Bill and Mike had thrown themselves more or less on top of him. And all of them were talking and laughing at once.

"Richie! Don't cry!"

"Don't say you're sorry! We should be sorry!"

"We should have known!"

"It's all cool, Rich!"

Overwhelmed by the sudden outpouring of love, Richie tried to say something but only a thick, ugly sob escaped his lips and he began to cry in earnest. The tears were hot on his face but that was alright. He wanted to smile, choked on his tears, gurgled and then managed to laugh.

"And you know what the worst part of it is?" He asked his friends.

"What? What is it?" They all wanted to know, concerned.

"I'm gay and all I got was Eddie for a boyfriend!"

The Losers erupted in gasps, shouts of joy and general laughter. Now they had got hold of Eddie, too, who was equally laughing, trying to evade the hands that threatened to ruffle his hair and thump his back.

"Oh no, you two didn't!" Mike laughed and clasped Richie on the shoulder. "I mean I know that teasing's a sign of affection but you two were vicious with each other."

"You should see our sex-life!" Richie nudged Mike in the ribs.

"Beep beep, Richie!" Eddie's yell downed by their shared laughter.

***

It had been a tremendous evening. After Richie's and Eddie's coming out the general bustle calmed down. Bill had suggested to just order some Chinese food – But no fortune cookies please! – so they could all settle down around the huge dining table and talk.

And they had done just that. After the first most urgent questions – Since when did they know that they were gay? Where they mad at the other Losers for not knowing? When did they get together? And so on – the conversation turned into a relaxed ebb and flow. Of course more often than not it was interrupted by one of Richie's now considerably more gayer jokes and Eddie's excursus into health care and hygiene.

All of the time Richie was filled with a warm, happy glow. He had come home and finally found his place in the world. No matter what would happen with his career, he had his friends.

Overwhelmed with feelings he sometimes snatched a little kiss from Eddie and nagged at him, when Eddie turned red.

Days ago Eddie had been all about coming out and being proud that his embarrassment now was far too endearing. Eddie couldn't loose his face of being cross with Richie all the time and scolding him for his stupid jokes.

They had also talked deep into the night about Ben and Beverly, when they were going to get married, about Bill's new idea for a novel and Mike's most recent travels around the world. also they raised a glass to Stan.

When it had become impossible to keep their eyes open anymore, Bill had shown them to their rooms. Initially planned for two smaller, separate bedrooms, Bill readied a bigger room with a queen-sized bed for Richie and Eddie to sleep in.

"I'm so done!" Richie moaned and dropped into the bed.

"Uf! Watch it, dickweed!" Eddie fretted as he tried to push Richie off of him. "You're still heavy!"

"But I just lost a ton of coming out baggage!" Richie complained and snuggled closer to Eddie. He reveled in Eddie's by now more than familiar smell, as he placed a tender kiss on his breastbone.

Underneath him Eddie's stiff posture softened and he returned the hug. Suddenly small chuckle shook his body.

"You did it, Rich," He murmured.

"All thanks to you, Eds," Richie replied. The warmth of Eddie's body and the soft blanket cocooned him in. For the next three days he was safe and loved. And after that he would be strong enough to face the rest of the world. He was sure.

"Oh no, you did it all by yourself–"

Richie sat up and kissed Eddie fully on the mouth, wanting to show his love. Just for an instant Eddie gave surprise grunt before he wrapped his hands around Richie's head and pulled him deeper. The gentle touch of Eddie's fingers to his face washed away the last bit of fear and apprehension of the things to come.

Sinking deeper into Eddie's loving embrace, Richie finally felt whole.

***

"Quick, quick, quick! You only have 30 seconds till curtain!"

Margaret, Riche's new manager pulled him out of his brightly illuminated dressing room into the hustle and bustle of the crowded theater's corridors.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" Richie replied and stumbled after her.

Around them people greeted him, wished him luck, clasped him on the back and waved. It was happening. This was really really happening.

Richie had been out for about half a year. After Thanksgiving at Bill's house and his coming out to the Losers his life had been a rollercoaster. First he told Clark and Sarah to fuck off. He cancelled his participation and involvement with the TV series he had been working on and fired Clark as his manager. Of course Clark had been furious, said that he didn't understand. When Richie told him why, that he was gay and wanted to find another way to express his comedic talents, Clark had laughed at him. He had told him that Richie would never stand a chance. Now, Richie didn't care anymore.

Before Clark could use any of this information against him, Richie released a formal press statement. He told his fans about his sexuality, how he couldn't progress with his current comedic content and that he hoped that they would stick around until he came up with something new. Which he hopefully would do soon. He already had some ideas.

Of course the media went nuts. But the backlash was negative as it was positive. A lot of encouraging features and commentaries appeared on TV, praising him for his strength and courage to stand up for himself in the macho-influence Hollywood scene.

Trying not to be bothered, Richie kept away from the media and the outside world really. He and Eddie rented a nice little cabin in the woods of Washington State where Richie diligently worked on his new stand up. Eddie of course was always by his side, with love, encouraging words and the odd smack on the back of his head when Richie forgot to wash his hands properly.

Given that he had no management anymore it had been amazing that Margaret got in contact with him at all. As it turned out, she knew Bill through some film-, literature- or music-industry connection and got Richie's number from him. She introduced herself as a manager for all kinds of LGBT and other society non-conforming artists and actors. She had expressed a great interest in managing him and helping him getting back on his feet after the recent media coverage.

From that point on, Richie's career skyrocketed. Every late night talk show booked him for an interview, he was asked to join some live TV discussions about LGBT representation in the media as a former more than heterosexual and sexist comedian turned gay.

And then his big day came. He was booked to do his new stand up in a reasonably large theater in San Francisco. Margaret had done her best to pitch Richie's new material to theaters and production firms all over the country. And it had paid off.

Today was the sold out premiere of 'The worst Gay: My secret life as a fairy'.

Richie stepped out onto the well worn wooden floor of the stage. The bright lights nearly blinded him and the crowed drowned all of his thoughts with their thundering applause.

When they had quieted down, he started, "So, I'm gay now, right? That means I'm not allowed to be into sports, drink beer or treat women as objects anymore. I mean, sounds fucking awesome right? Who wouldn't want to be gay?! Guess what: Me. I mean, I was so deep in the fucking closet I was in fucking Narnia!"

And off Richie went and the crowd roared. It was one and a half hour of laughter, a little onstage crying and a lot of well placed gutter humor.

Richie's show spoke of the weird and sometimes ludicrous situations you got yourself into as a closeted gay. How sometimes fear just ate you up, but also barfed you back out again and you could keep on going. His show was full of humor, wit and hope.

When it drew to an end, a thin glimmer of tears had again collected in his eyes.

"So thank you everybody for coming out to night, this means a lot to me. I'm Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier … and this show goes out to Eddie, my love!"

The audience erupted in standing ovations.

***

Richie nervously fiddled with the glass of bourbon in his hand. The bright light of his mirror caught in the cheap glass. He smiled and put it aside.

After coming backstage his team had nearly crushed him with their well wishes and embraces and handshakes. At some point Margaret had managed to pull him aside and congratulated him in earnest. There were tears in her eyes. She procured two glasses of bourbon, toasted him and then was immediately swept away by her assistant, back to the theater's office, leaving Richie to his own devices.

Swirling the drink, Richie had slunk backstage to his dressing room.

He had done it. For a moment he had lost everything, his fame his career but … staying true to himself for the first time, overcoming his fear and trusting his friends, he had made more of himself than he could ever have hoped for.

A gentle knock on the door made him turn around. Heart beating fast.

"Come in!"

The door opened and Eddie stepped inside. Given the occasion and location, he wore a fine dress suit that made him look even more proper than he normally did.

Without a single spoken word Eddie came up to him, grabbed his face and kissed him.

Happiness made him giddy and his hands trembled, but Richie got hold of Eddie's back and held him close. Slowly the kiss broke.

"You fucking asshole! What were you thinking by saying my name like that at the end of the show?!" Eddie snapped, his hand shot up and trembled in anger. His eyes were red and oddly glistening.

Richie's mouth spread into a wide, lopsided grin. "What, didn't you like my on stage declaration of love, Eds? I thought cultivated people like you love stuff like that! After all, we're gay now."

"You idiot," Eddie laughed and rubbed the tears from eyes.

"Yeah, but a pretty fucking famous idiot. A ludicrously lovable idiot," Richie went on and gently poked Eddie's belly.

Suddenly Eddie's face got serious. "A very brave idiot."

And that was enough. The stress and anxiety of the past months, todays show, Eddie's presence. Everything pushed and pulled at him and he came undone. Stifling a sob, Richie pressed, his face into Eddie's white shirt and started crying silently.

"Rich." Eddie exclaimed. "Rich, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"'s fine," Riche mumbled. "It's just … I'm so happy. So goddamn fucking happy and relieved."

Eddie's hand settled gently on Richie's back and he felt himself unclench.

"And you've got every right to be. If you didn't want to be proud of yourself before, you can be so now."

A unstoppable, happy laughter bubbled up in Richie and he gave in. "Yeah. Yeah I'm proud." He looked up into Eddie's deep, brown eyes full of love. "Proud to have you as my boyfriend."

Eddie's eyebrows shot upward and his face turned a handsome shade of cherry. "Moron," he whispered.

Richie grinned.

"Anyways," Eddie coughed and went on, as his finger still playing with Richie's collar. "Care to come front stage and see who wants to compliment you on your show?"

Richie sat up straight. "No way! They're here?! I though they didn't have the time!"

An evil smile played on Eddie's lips and he turned towards the door. "Well, you were whining about how scared you were to perform your new material in front of your best friends, so we just … _told_ you, they weren't coming."

"You fucking dickheads! Traitor!" Richie exclaimed in his best stormtrooper voice and shot out of his seat and made a lunge for Eddie.

"Richie, no!" Eddie squeaked. "You just ruined my shirt with your fucking tears and snot! I– no! Don't you dare tickle me! I'm not having i–"

"Now's pay back time, boyfriend material!" Richie hollered, grabbed Eddie, who was just a second too slow, gave him a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek, hoisted him over the shoulder and ran out towards the stage.

Laughing, stumbling and bickering, Richie and Eddie stumbled towards their friends waiting for them. This was going to be a wonderful summer.

**~Fin~**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading and being patient! <3


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